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■RELiaUES

Ob'

ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY;

CONSISTING OP

xVND OTHER PIECES OF OUR EARLIER POETS ;
TOGETHER WITH SOME FEW OF LATER DATE.

THOMAS PERCY,

LeRD BISHOP OF DROMORE.

REPRINTED ENTIRE FROM THE AUTHOR'S LAST EDITION.

mitl) iHemoir auli Critical Dfe^ertatiou,

BY THE

REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN.
THE TEXT EDITED BY CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. IIL

EDINBURGH : JAMES NICHOL.

LONDON : JAMES NISBET AND CO. DUBLIN : G. HERBERT.

LIVERPOOL : G. PHILIP & SON.

M.DCCC.LXIV.

'/f H

CONTENTS.

SEEIES THE TEIED.

BOOK I.

Paoe

Essay on the Ancient Metrical Romances

. ,

The Boy and the Mantle

II.

Tiie Marriage of Sir Gawaine .

. .

in.

King Ryence's Challenge

, ,

IV.

King Arthur's Death, a Fragment ,

The Legend of King Artliur .

, ,

VI.

A Dyttie to Hey Downe

VU.

Glasgerion ....

. ,

VIII.

Old Robin of Portingale

. ,

IX.

Child Waters ....

, .

Phillida and Corydon, by Nic. Breton

XI.

Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard

. ,

5-t

XII.

The Ew-bughts Marion, a Scottish Song

. ,

XIII.

The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter

. .

XIV.

The Shepherd's Address to his Muse, by N.

Breton .

XV.

Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor

, ,

XVI.

Cupid and Campaspe, by John Lilye .

• »

XVII.

The Lady turned Serving-man

. .

>CVI1I.

Gil [Child] Morrice, a Scottish Ballad

• *

BOOK 11.

I. The Legend of Sir Guy
II. Guy and Amarant, by Sam. Rowlands

III. The Auld Good Man, a Scottish Song

IV. Fair Margaret and Sweet William
V. Barbara Allen's Cmelty

VI. Sweet William's Ghost, a Scottish Ballad

VII. Sir John Grclime and Barbara Allen, ditto

VIII. The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington .

IX. The Willow Tree, a Pastoral Dialogue

X. The Lady's Fall

102

105

107

109

111

112

CONTENTS.

XI. Waly, Waly, Love be lloiinv, a Scottish Sun<^
XII. The liride's Burial . " .

XIII. Diilcina ....

XIV. The Lady Isabella's Tragedy .

XV. A Hue and Cry after Cupid, by Ben. Junsoi»
XVL The Kiii«; of France's Daugliter
XVII. The Sweet Neglect, bv Ben. Jonson .
XVIII. The Children in the Wood
XIX. A Lover of late was I
XX. The Kino- and the Miller of xMansfield
XXI. The Shepherd's Kesolution, by Geo. Wither
XXII. Queen Dido, or the Wanderino- Prince of Troy

XXIII. The AVitehes Song, by Ben. Jonson .

XXIV. Robin Good-Fellow .
XXV. The Fairy Queen

XXVI. The Fairies Farewell, by Dr. Corbet .

Paoe
118
110
124
12«
130
132
139
140
146
147
157
159
1G4
JC7
171
173

BOOK III.

I. The Birth of St. George ....

II. St. George and the Drag'on ....

III. Love will find out the Way ....

IV. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet, a Scottish Ballad
V. Unfading Beauty, by Tho. Carew

VI. George Barnwell .....

A' II. The Stedfast Shepherd, by Geo. Wither
Vlll. The Spanish Virgin, or the Effects of Jealousy
IX. Jealousy Tyrant of the Mind, by Dryden
X. Constant Penelope ♦ . . . .

XI. To Liicasta on going to the Wars, by Col. Lovelace .
XII. Valentine and Ursine .....
XIIL The Dragon of Wantley ....

XIV. St. George for England. The First Part
XV. St. George for England. The Second Part, by J. Grubb
XVI. Margaret's Ghost, by David Mallet .
XVII. Lucy and Colin, by Tho. Tickel
XVIII. The Boy and the Mantle revised, &c.
XIX. The Ancient Fragment of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine
The Hermit of Warkworth, by Bishop Percy
The Glossarv ......

178
187
196
198
202
203
217
219
224
225
229
230
244
252
257
273
276
279
287
207
334

An ordinary Song or Ballad, that is the delight of the common people, cannot
fail to please all such readers, as are not unqualified for the entertainment by
their affectation or their ignorance ; and the reason is plain, because the same
paintings of nature which recommend it to the most ordinary reader, will appear
beautiful to the most refined. Addison, in Spectator, No. 70.

AN ESSAY

ON THE

ANCIENT METKICAL ROMANCES.

The third volume being chiefly devoted to romantic subjects,
may not be improperly introduced with a few slight strictures on
the old Metrical Romances: a subject the more worthy attention,
as it seems not to have been known to such as have written on
the nature and origin of Books of Chivalry, that the first com-
positions of this kind were in verse, and usually sung to the harp.

ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES, ETC.

I. The first attempts at composition among all barbarous na-
tions are ever found to be Poetry and Song. The praises of their
gods and the achievements of their heroes, are usually chanted
at their festival meetings. These are the first rudiments of History.

It is in this manner that the savages of North America preserve
the memory of past events : ^ and the same method is known to
have prevailed among our Saxon ancestors, before they quitted
tlieir German forests. ^ The ancient Britons had their Bards,
and the Gothic nations their Scalds or popular poets, ^ whose
business it was to record the victories of their warriors, and the
genealogies of their princes, in a kind of narrative songs, which
were committed to memory, and delivered down from one reciter
to another. So long as Poetry continued a distinct profession,
and while the Bard, or Scald was a regular and stated ofiicer in
the prince's court, these men are thought to have performed the

' Vid. Lasitcau, Mocurs des Sauvages, T. 2. Dr Browne's Hist, of tlie Rise
and Progress of Poetry. — ^ Gcrmani celebrant carminibus antiquls (quod umim
apud illos memoriae ct annaliiim genu.s est) Tiiistoncm, &c. Tacit, (icrm. c. 2.

— 'Bartli. Antiq. Dan. Lib. 1. Cap. 10. Wormii Literatiira Runica, ad

(ineni.

X KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

fiinctious of the historian pretty faithfully; for though their nar-
rations would be apt to receive a good deal of embellishment, they
are supposed to have had at the bottom so much of truth as to
serve for the basis of more regular annals. At least, succeeding
historians have taken up with the relations of these rude men,
and for want of more authentic records, have agreed to allow
them the credit of true history. ^

After letters began to prevail, and history assumed a more stable
form, by being committed to plain simple prose ; these Songs of
the Scalds or Bards began to be more amusing than useful. And
in proportion as it became their business chiefly to entertain and
delight, they gave more and more into embellishment, and set oft'
their recitals with such marvellous fictions, as were calculated to
captivate gross and ignorant minds. Thus began stories of adven-
tures with giants and dragons, and witches and enchanters, and
all the monstrous extravagances of wild imagination, unguided by
judgment, and uncorrected by art.^

This seems to be the true origin of that species of Komance,
which so long celebrated feats of Chivalry, and which, at first in
metre, and afterwards in prose, was the entertainment of our an-
cestors, in common with their contemporaries on the continent,
till the satire of Cervantes, or rather the increase of knowledge
and classical literature, drove them oft" the stage, to make room for
a more refined species of fiction, under the name of French Ro-
mances, copied from the Greek. ^

That our old Romances of Chivalry may be derived in a lineal
descent from the ancient historical songs of the Gothic Bards and
Scalds, will be shown below, and indeed appears the more evident,
as many of those songs are still preserved in the north, which ex-
hibit all the seeds of Chivalry before it became a solemn institu-
tion. * ' Chivalry, as a distinct military order, conferred in the
way of investiture, and accompanied with the solemnity of an
oath, and other ceremonies,' was of later date, and sprung out of
the feudal constitution, as an elegant writer has clearly shewn. ^
But the ideas of Chivalry prevailed long before in all the Gothic
nations, and may be discovered as in embryo in the customs,

' See ' Northern Antiquities, or a Description of the Manners, Customs, &c.
of the ancient Danes and other northern nations, translated from the Fr. of M,
Mallet,' 1770, 2 vol. 8vo. (vol. i. p. 49, &c.)— ^ Vid. infra, pp. xi, xii, &c.—

^Viz. Astrjjea, Cassandra, Clelia, &c. ''JMallet, vid. Northern Antiquities,

\o\. 1. p. 318, &c. vol. 2. p. 234, &c. — ^ Letters concerning Chivalry, 8vo. 1763.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XI

inaiincrs, and oi)inions of every branch of that people. ^ Tliat
fondness of going in qnest of adventures, that spirit of challenging
to single combat, and that respectful complaisance shewn to the
fair sex, (so different from the manners of the Greeks and Ro-
mans), all are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to the earliest
times among all the northern nations. ^ These existed long before
the feudal ages, though they were called forth and strengthened
in a peculiar manner under that constitution, and at length ar-
rived to their full maturity in the times of the Crusades, so replete
with romantic adventures. ^

Even the common arbitrary fictions of Romance were (as is hinted
above) most of them familiar to the ancient Scalds of the North,
long before the time of the Crusades. They believed the existence
of Giants and Dwarfs * ; they entertained opinions not unlike the
more modern notion of Fairies,^ they were strongly possessed w^ith
the belief of spells, and enchantment,® and were fond of inventing
combats with Dragons and Monsters.^

The opinion therefore seems very untenable, which some learned
and ingenious men have entertained, that the turn for Chivalry,
and the taste for that species of romantic fiction were caught by
the Spaniards from the Arabians or Moors after their invasion of
Spain, and from the Spaniards transmitted to the bards of Armo-

' ^Mallet. — ^The seeds of Chivalry sprang up so naturally out of the original
manners and opinions of the northern nations, that it is not credible they arose so
late as after the establishment of the Feudal System, much less the Crusades.
Nor, again, that the Romances of Chivalry were transmitted to other nations,
through the Jpnniards, from the Moors and Arabians. Had this been the case,
the first French Romances of Chivalry would have been on Moorish, or at least
Spanish subjects: ^vhcreas the most ancient stories of this kind, whether in
prose or verse, whether in Italian, French, English, &c. are chiefly on the su!)-
jects of Charlemagne, and the Paladines ; or of our British Arthur, and his
Knights of the Round Table, &c. being evidently borrowed from the fabulous
Chronicles of the supposed Archbishop Turpin, and of Jeffery of Monmouth.
Not but some of the oldest and most popular French Romances are also on
Norman subjects, as Richard Sans-peur, Robert Le Diable, &c. ; whereas I do
not recollect so much as one, in which the scene is laid in Spain, much loss
among the Moors, or descriptive of Mahometan manners. Even in Amadis de
Gaul, said to have been the first Romance printed in Spain, the scene is laid in
Gaul and liritain ; and the manners are French : which plainly shews from
what school this species of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the southern
nations of Europe.—* Mallet, North. Antiiiuitics, vol I. p. 3G ; vol. II. passim.
—^ Olaus Vercl. ad Ilervarcr Saga, pj). 44, 45. Ilickcs's Thcsaur. vc^l. II. p.
nil. Northern Antiquities, vol. H. passim.—^ Ihul. vnl. I. jip. Gl>, 374, &c.
vol. II. p. LMC, &c.— • Kullofs Saga. Cap. 35, &c.

\U RilLIQL'ES OF AN'CIENT POETIIY.

ricii/ and thus difrused througli Britain, France, Italy, Germany,
and the North. For it seems utterly incredible, that one rude
people should ado])t a peculiar taste, and manner of writing or
thinking from another, without borrowing at the same time any
of their particular stories and fables, without appearing to know
anything of their heroes, history, laws, and religion. When the
Komans began to adopt and imitate the Grecian literature, they
immediately naturalized all the Grecian fables, histories, and
religious stories; which became as familiar to the poets of Rome,
as of Greece itself. Whereas all the old writers of chivalry, and of
that species of romance, whether in prose or verse, whether of the
Northern nations, or of Britain, France, and Italy; not excepting

* It is peculiarly imfortunate, that such as maintain this opinion are obliged
to take their first step from the Moorish provinces in Spain, without one inter-
mediate resting place, to Armorica or Bretagne, the province in France from
them most remote, not more in situation, than in the manners, habits, and
language of its Welsh iuh;ibitants, which are allowed to have been derived from
this island, as must have been their traditions, songs, and fables ; being doubt-
less all of Celtic original. See p. 3 of the 'Dissertation on the Origin of
Romantic Fiction in Europe,' prefixed to Mr Tho. Warton's History of English
Poetry, vol. I. 1774, 4to. If any pen could have supported this darling hypo-
thesis of Dr Warburton, that of this ingenious critic would have effected it. But
under the general term Oriental^ he seems to consider the ancient inhabitants
of the North and South of Asia, as having all the same manners, traditions, and
fiibles; and because the secluded people of Arabia took the lead under the reli-
gion and empu'e of Mahomet, therefore every thing must be derived from them
to the Northern Asiatics in the remotest ages, &c. A\'ith as much reason under
the word Occidental^ we might represent the early traditions and fables of the
North and South of Europe to have been the same ; and that the Gothic mytho-
logy of Scandinavia, the Druidic or Celtic of Gaul and Britain, differed not
from the classic of Greece and Rome. There is not room here for a fidl exami-
nation of the minuter arguments, or rather slight coincidences, by which our
agreeable Dissertator endeavours to maintain and defend this favourite opinion
of Dr. W. who has been himself so completely confuted by Mr Tyrvvhitt. (See
his notes on ' Love's Labour Lost,' &c.) But some of his positions it will be
sufficient to mention : such as the referring the Gog and Magog, which our old
Christian Bards might have had from Scripture, to the Jaguiouge and Magioiige
of the Arabians and Persians, &c. [p. 13.] — That ' we may venture to afiirm,
that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, supposed to contain the ideas of
the Welsh Bards, entirely consists of Arabian inventions.' [p. 13.] — And that,
^ as Geoffrey's history is the grand repository of the acts of Arthur, so a fabulous
History ascribed to Turpin is the ground-w^ork of all the chimerical legends
which have been related concerning the conquests of Charlemagne and his
twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the Saracens from Spain, and it is
filled with fictions evidently congenial to those which characterise Geoffrey's
history.' [p. 17.] — That is, as he afterwards expresses it, 'lavishly decorated by

ESSAY OX THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XI 11

Spain itself; ^ appear utterly unacquainted with whatever relates
to the Mahometan nations. Thus with regard to their religion,
they constantly represent them as worshipping idols, as paying
adoration to a golden image of Mahomet, or else they confound
them with the ancient pagans, &c. And indeed in all other
respects they are so grossly ignorant of the customs, manners, and
opinions of every branch of that people, especially of their heroes,
champions, and local stories, as almost amounts to a demonstration
that they did not imitate them in their songs or romances : for as
to dragons, serpents, necromancies, &c., why should these be
thought only derived from the Moors in Spain so late as after the
eighth century, since notions of this kind appear too familiar to
the northern Scalds, and enter too deeply into all the northern
mythology to have been transmitted to the unlettered Scandinavians,
from so distant a country, at so late a period ? If they may not be
allowed to have brought these opinions with them in their original
migrations from the north of Asia, they will be far more likely to
have borrowed them from the Latin poets after the Koman con-
quests in Gaul, Britain, Germany, &c. For, I believe one may
challenge the entertainers of this opinion, to produce any Arabian
poem or history, that could possibly have been then known in

the Arabian fablers.' [p. 58.] — We should hardly have expected, that the
Arabian fablers would have been lavish in decorating a history of their enemy :
but what is singular, as an instance and proof of this Arabian origin of the
fictions of Turpin, a passage is quoted from his IVth chapter, which I sliall beg
leave to offer, as affording decisive evidence that they could not possibly be
derived from a Mahometan source. Sc. ' The Christians under Charlemagne are
said to have found in Spain a golden idol, or image of Mahomet, as high as a
bird can fly. — It was framed by Mahomet himself of the purest metal, who, by
his knowledge in necromancy, had sealed up within it a legion of diabolical
spirits. It held in its hand a prodigious club; and the Saracens had a prophetic
tradition, that this club should fall from the hand of the image in that year
wiicn a certain king should be born in France, &c.' \_Vid. p. 18, Note.]
— 1 The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which the Spaniards have at
present in great abundance, and which they call peculiarly Romances^ (see vol.
I. Book III. No. XVI. &c.) have nothing in common with their proper Romances
(or histories) of Chivalry ; which they call Historias de Cavallerias: these are
evidently imitations of the Ficnch, and shew a great ignorance of ^Moorish
manners : and with regard to the Morisco, or Song-Romances, they do not
seem of very great antiquity : few of them appear, from their subjects, mucii
earlier than the reduction of Granada, in the fifleenth century : from which
period, I believe, may be plainly traced among the Spanish writers, a more per-
fect knowledge of Moorish customs, kc

\IV UELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Spain, wliicli rcseiuLles tlio old Gothic romances of Cldvalry lialf
ao much as tlie Metamoqjliosos of Ovid.

But we well know that the Scythian nations situate in the
countries about Pontus, Colchis, and the Euxine sea, were in all
times infamous for their magic arts : and as Odin and his followers
are said to have come precisely from those pai-ts of Asia ; we can
readily account for the prevalence of fictions of this sort among
the Gothic nations of the Nortli, without fetching them from the
Moors in Spain ; who for many centuries after their irruption, lived
in a state of such constant hostility with the unsubdued Spanish
Christians, whom they chiefly pent up in the mountains, as gave
them no chance of learning their music, poetry or stories; and this,
tofjether with the relio^ious hatred of tlie latter for their cruel
invadei*s, will account for the utter ignorance of the old Spanish
romancers in whatever relates to the Mahometan nations, although
so nearly their own neighbours.

On the other hand, from the local customs and situations, from
the known manners and opinions of the Gothic nations in the
North, we can easily account for all the ideas of Chivalry, and its
peculiar fictions.^ For, not to mention their distinguished respect
for the fair sex, so different from the manners of the IMahometan
nations,^ their national and domestic history so naturally assumes
all the wonders of this species of fabling, that almost all their
historical narratives appear regular romances. One might refer
in proof of this to the old northern Sagas in general : but to give a
particular instance, it will be sufficient to produce the histoiy of
King Kegner Lodbrog, a celebrated warrior and pirate, avIio reigned
in Denmark about the year 800.^ This hero signalized his youth
by an exploit of gallantry. A Swedish prince had a beautiful
daughter, whom he intrusted (probably during some expedition) to
the care of one of his officers, assigning a strong castle for their
defence. The officer fell in love with his ward, and detained her
in his castle, spite of all the efforts of her father. Upon this he
published a proclamation through all the neighbouring countries,
that whoever would conquer the ravisher and rescue the lady
should have her in marriage. Of all that undertook the adventure
Regner alone was so happy as to achieve it : he delivered the fair
captive and obtained her for his prize. It happened that the name
of this discourteous officer was Orme, which in the Islandic language

1 See Northern Antiquities, passim. — ^ Lhid, — ^ Saxon Gram. p. 152, 153.

Slallet, North. Antiq. vol. I. p. 321.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XV

signifies Serpent]: wherefore the Seal tin, to give the more poetical
turn to the adventure, represent the lady as detained from her
father by a dreadful dragon, and that Regner slew the monster to
set her at liberty. This fabulous account of the exploit is given
in a poem still extant, which is even ascribed to Kegner himself,
who was a celebrated poet; and which records all the valiant
achievements of his life.^

With marvellous embellishments of this kind the Scalds early be-
gan to decorate their narratives : and they were the more lavish of
these, in proportion as they departed from their original institu-
tion, but it was a long time before they thought of delivering a set
of personages and adventures wholly feigned. Of the great mul-
titude of romantic tales still preserved in the libraries of the North,
most of them are supposed to have had some foundation in truth,
And the more ancient they are, the more they are believed to be
connected with true history.^

It was not probably till after the Historian and the Bard had
been long disunited, that the latter ventured at pure fiction. At
length, when their business was no longer to instruct or inform,
but merely to amuse, it was no longer needful for them to adhere
to truth. Then succeeded fabulous songs and romances in verse,
which for a long time prevailed in France and England before
they had books of Chivalry in prose. Yet in both these countries
the Minstrels still retained so much of their original institution,
as frequently to make true events the subject of their songs ;^ and
indeed, as during the barbarous ages, the regular histories were
almost all written in Latin by the monks, the memory of events
was preserved and propagated among the ignorant laity by scarce
any other means than the popular songs of the Minstrels.

II. The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, and Norway, being
the latest converts to Christianity, retained their original manners
and opinions longer than the other nations of Gothic race: and
therefore they have preserved more of the genuine compositions of
their ancient poets, than their southern neighbours. Hence the
progress, among them, from poetical history to poetical fiction is
very discernible : they have some old pieces, that are in efiect com-

> See a Translation of this poem, among ' Five pieces of Runic poetry,' —
' Vid. Mallet, Northern Antiquities, passim. — ' Tlic Editor's IMS. contains a
multitude of poems of this latter kind. It was probably from this custom of the
Minstrels that some of our first llistorians wrote their Chronicles in vcrde, as
Rob. of Gloucester, Harding, &o.

XVI llELIQUKS OF AN'CIKNT POETRY.

plete Komances of Chivalry.^ They have also (as hath been ob-
served) a multitude of Sagas'^ or histories on romantic subjects, con-
taining a mixture of prose and verse, of various dates, some of tliem
written since the times of the Crusades, others long before : but
their narratives in verse only are esteemed the more ancient.

Now as the iriniption of the Normans^ into France under Ptollo
did not tiike place till towards the beginning of tlic tenth century,
at which time the Scaldic art was arrived to the highest perfection
in Rollo's native country, we can easily trace the descent of the
French and English Komances of Chivalry from the Northern Sagas.
That conqueror doubtless carried many Scalds with him from the
North, who transmitted their skill to their children and successors.
These adopting the religion, opinions, and language of the new
country, substituted the heroes of Christendom instead of those of
their Pagan ancestors, and began to celebrate the feats of Charle-
magne, Roland, and Oliver; whose true history they set off and
embellished with the Scaldic figments of dwarfs, giants, dragons,
and inchantments. The first mention we have in song of those
heroes of chivalry is in the mouth of a Norman warrior at the con-
quest of England : * and tliis circumstance alone would sufficiently
account for the propagation of this kind of romantic poems among
the French and English.

But this is not all; it is very certain, that both the Anglo-
Saxons and the Franks had brought with them, at their first emi-
gi'ations into Britain and Gaul, the same fondness for the ancient
songs of their ancestors, which prevailed among the other Gothic
tribes,^ and that all their first annals were transmitted in these
popular oral poems. This fondness they even retained long after
their conversion to Christianity, as we learn from the examples of
Charlemagne and Alfred.^ Now Poetry, being thus the trans-
mitter of facts, would as easily learn to blend them with fictions

1 See a Specimen in 2d Vol. of Northern Antiquities, &c. p. 248, &c. —
2 Eccardi Hist. Stud. Etym. 1711, p. 179, &c. Ilickes's Thesaur. vol. II. p. 314.
— ^ i.e. Northern Men : being chiefly emigrants from Norway, Denmark, &c. —
* See the account of Taillefer in Vol. I. Essay, and Note. — ^ Ipsa carmina
memorias mandabant, et pro^lia inituri decantabant ; qua memoria tam fortium
gestorum a majoribus patratorum ad imitationem animus adderetur. Jor-
nandes de Gothis — ^ Eginhartus de Carolo magno. ' Item barbara, et anti-
quissima carmina quibus veterum regum actus et bella canebantur, scripsit.'

c. 29. Asserius de -Alfredo magno. ' Rex inter bella, &c Saxonicos

libros recitare, et maxime carmina Saxonica memoriter discere, aliis imperare,
et solus assidue pro viribus, studiosissime non desinebat.' Ed. 1722, 8vo. p. 43.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XVll

in France and England, as she is known to have done in the nortli,
and that much sooner, for the reasons before assigned.^ This, to-
gether with the example and influence of the Normans, will easily
account to us, why the first Komances of Chivalry that appeared
both in England and France^ were composed in metre, as a rude
kind of epic songs. In both kingdoms tales in verse were usually
sung by Minstrels to the harp on festival occasions : and doubtless
both nations derived their relish for this sort of entertainment from
their Teutonic ancestors, without either of them borrowing it from
the other. Among both people narrative songs on true or fictitious
subjects had evidently obtained from the earliest times. But the
professed Romances of Chivalry seem to have been first composed
in France, where also they had their name.

The Latin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious writer,^ ceased
to be spoken in France about the ninth century, and was succeeded
by what was called the Komance tongue, a mixture of the language
of the Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of Chivalry became
the most popular compositions in that language, they were empha-
tically called Romans or Romants ; though this name was at first
given to any piece of poetry. The Komances of Chivalry can be
traced as early as the eleventh century.* I know not if the Roman
de Brut written in 1155, was such: But if it was, it was by no
means the first poem of the kind; others more ancient are still ex-
tant.^ And we have already seen, that, in the preceding century,
when the Normans marched down to the battle of Hastings, they
animated themselves, by singing (in some popular romance or
ballad) the exploits of Roland and the other heroes of Chivalry.^

* See above. — ^ The Romances on the subject of Perceval^ San GraaU
Lancelot du Lac^ Tristan, Sfc. were among the first that appeared in the
French lan^iaf^e in prose, yet these were originally composed in metre. The
Editor has in his possession a very old French MS. in verse, containing Vancien
Roman de Perceval, and metrical copies of the others may be found in the
libraries of the curious See a Note of Wanley's in Ilarl. Cataloj^. Num. 2252,
p. 49, &c. Nicholson's Eng. Hist. Library, 3d Ed. p. 91, &:c. — See also a
curious collection of old French Romances, with Mr Wanley's account of tliis
sort of pieces, in Ilarl. MSS. Catal. 978, 106.— ^ The Author of the Essay on
the Genius of Pope. — * Ibid. Hist. Lit. Tom. G. 7. — * Voi. Preface aux ' Fabliaux
& Contes des Poetcs FranQois des xii, xiii, xiv, & xv siecles, &c. Paris, 175G,
3 Tom. 12mo.' (a very curious work.) — ^ Vid. supra. Note (d), Vol. I. Essay, &c.
Et vide Rapin, Carte, &c. — This song of Roland (whatever it was) continued
for some centuries to be usually sun^:^ by the French in their marches, if we may
believe a modern French writer. ' Un jour qu'on chantoit le chanson de Roland,
comme c'etoit I'usage dans les marches. II y a long temps, dit il, [John K. of

XVIU IIKLIQLKS OF AN'CIENT POETIIV.

So early as this I cannot trace the songs of Chivalry in English.
The most ancient I have seen, is that of Uornechild described be-
low, which seems not older than the twelftli century. However,
as tliis rather resembles the Saxon Poetiy, than the French, it is
not certain that the first English Romances were translated from
that language.^ We have seen above, that a propensity to this
kind of fiction prevailed among all the Gothic nations:^ and,
though after the Norman Conquest, this country abounded with
French Komances, or with translations from the French, there is
good reason to believe, that the English had original pieces of their
own.

The stories of King Arthur and his Hound Table, may be rea-
sonably supposed of the growth of this island ; both the French and
the Armoricans probably had them from Britain.'^ The stories of
Guy and Bevis, with some others, were probably the invention of
English Minstrels.* On the other hand, the English procured
translations of such Romances as were most current in France;
and in the list given at the conclusion of these remarks, many are
doubtless of French original.

The first prose books of Chivalry that appeared in our language
were those printed by Caxton;^ at least, these are the first I have

France, who died in 1364] qu'on ne volt plus de Rolands parmi les Francois,
On y verroit encore des Rolands, lui repondit un vieiix Capitaine, s'ils avoient
un Charlemagne k leiir tete.' Vid. torn. iii. p. 202, des Essaies Hist, sur Paris
de M. de Saintefoix : who gives as his authority, Boethius in Hist. Scotorum.
This author, however, speaks of the Complaint and Repartee, as made in an
Assembly of the States, (vocato senatii) and not upon any march, &c. Vid.
Boeth. lib. xv. fol. 327. Ed. Paris, 1574.

1 See on this subject, Vol. I. Note, S. 2. page Ixxiii; and in note Gg.
p. Ixxxviii.&c. — ^ The first Romances of Chivalry among the Geraians were in
metre : they have some very ancient narrative songs, (which they call Lieder)
not only on the fabulous heroes of tlieir ot\ti country, but also on those of
France and Britain, as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the Knights von der
Tafel-ronde. {Vid. Goldasti Not. in Eginhart. Vit. Car. Mag. 4to. 1711, p.
207.) — ^ The Welsh have still some very old Romances about K. Arthur; but
as these are in prose, they are not probably their first pieces that were com-
posed on that subject. — * It is most credible that these stories were originally of
English invention, even if the only pieces now extant should be found to be
translations from the French. What now pass for the French originals were
probably only amplifications, or enlargements of the old English story. That
the French Romancers borrowed some things from the English, appears from
the word Termagant^ which they took up from our Minstrels, and corrupted
into Tervagaunte. See Vol. I. p. 60, and Gloss. 'Termagant.' — * Recuyel
of the Historyea of Troy, 1471. Godfroye of Boloyne, 1481. Le Morte de

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XIX

been able to discover, and tliese are all translations from the French.
Whereas Romances of this kind had been long current in meti*e,
and were so generally admired in the time of Chaucer, that his
Rhyme of Sir Thopas was evidently written to ridicule and bur-
lesque them.^

He expressly mentions several of them by name in a stanza,
which I shall have occasion to quote more than once in this
volume :

Men speken of Romaunces of pris
Of Horn-Child, and of Ipotis

Of Bevis, and Sire Guy
Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour,
But Sire Thopas, he bereth the flour
Of real chevalrie.^

Most, if not all of these are still extant in MS. in some or other
of our Libraries, as I shall shew in the conclusion of this slight
essay, where I shall give a list of such metrical Histories and
Romances as have fallen under my observation.

As many of these contain a considerable portion of poetic merit,
and throw great light on the manners and opinions of former times,
it were to be wished that some of the best of them were rescued
from oblivion. A judicious collection of them accurately j^iblished
with proper illustrations, would be an important accession to our
stock of ancient English literature. Many of them exliibit no mean
attempts at Epic Poetry, and though full of the exploded fictions of
Chivalry, frequently display great descriptive and inventive powers
in the Bards, who composed them. They are at least generally
equal to any other poetry of the same age. They cannot indeed
be put in competition with the nervous productions of so universal
and commanding a genius as Chaucer, but they have a simplicity that
makes them be read with less interruption, and be more easily
understood : and they are far more spirited and entertaining than
the tedious allegories of Gower, or the dull and prolix legends of
Lydgate. Yet, while so much stress was laid upon the writings

Arthur, 1485. The life of Charlemagne, 1485, &c. As the old minstrelsy
wore out, prose books of Chivalry became more admired, especially after the
Spanish Romances began to be translated into English towards the end of Q.
Elizabeth's reif^ : then the most popular metrical Romances began to be reduced
into prose, as Sir Guy, Bevis, &c.

1 See Extract from a Letter, written by the Editor of these volumes, in Mr
Warton's Observations, Vol. II. p 139.— ^ Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitfs Edit.),

Vol. IT. p. 238. In all the former editions, which I have seen, the name at

the end of the 4th line is Blandamoure.

XX IlELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

of these last, by such as treat of English poetiy, the old metrical
Romances though far more popular in their time, were hardly
known to exist. But it has happened unluckily, that the anti-
quaries who have revived the works of our ancient writers, have
been for the most part men void of taste and genius, and therefore
have always fastidiously rejected the old poetical Romances, because
founded on fictitious or popular subjects, while they have been,
careful to grub up every petty fragment of the most dull and
insipid rhymist, whose merit it was to deform morality, or obscure
true history. Should the public encourage the revival of some
of those ancient Epic Songs of Chivalry, they would frequently
see the rich ore of an Ariosto or a Tasso, though buried it may be
among the rubbish and dross of barbarous times.

Such a publication would answer many important uses. It
would throw new light on the rise and progress of English poetry,
the history of which can be but imperfectly understood, if these
are neglected. It would also serve to illustrate innumerable pas-
sages in our ancient classic poets, which without their help must be
for ever obscure. For, not to mention Chaucer and Spencer, who
abound with perpetual allusions to them, I shall give an instance
or two from Shakespeare, by way of specimen of their use.

In his play of King John our great dramatic poet alludes to an
exploit of Richard I. which the reader will in vain look for in
any true history. Faulconbridge says to his mother, Act i. Sc. 1.

' Needs must you lay your heart at Ms dispose. . .

Against whose furie and unmatched force.

The awlesse lion could not wage the fight.

Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand ;

He that perforce robs lions of their hearts

May easily winne a woman's : '

The fact here referred to, is to be traced to its source only in the
old Romance of Richard Ceur de Lyon,^ui which his encounter
with a lion makes a very shining figure. I shall give a large ex-
tract from this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these old
rhapsodists, and to shew that they did not in their fictions neglect
the proper means to produce the ends, as was afterwards so childishly
done in the prose books of Chivalry.

The poet tells us, that Richard, in his return from the Holy

1 Dr Grey has shewn that the same story is alluded to in Rastell's Chronicle.
As it was doubtless originally had from the Romance, this is proof that the old
Metrical Romances throw light on our first writers in prose: many of our
ancient Historians have recorded the fictions of Romance.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XAl

Land, having been discovered in the habit of ' a palmer in Almayne,'
and apprehended as a spy, was by the king thrown into prison.
"Wardrew, the king's son, hearing of Kichard's great strength,
desires the jailor to let him have a sight of his prisoners. Kichard
being the foremost, Wardrew asks him, ' if he dare stand a buffet
from his hand V and that on the morrow he shall return him
another. Richard consents, and receives a blow that staggers him.
On the morrow, having previously waxed his hands, he waits his
antagonist's arrival. "Wardrew accordingly, proceeds the story,
* held forth as a trew man,' and Richard gave him such a blow on
the cheek, as broke his jaw-bone, and killed him on the spot.-"- The
king, to revenge the death of his son, orders, by the advice of one
Eldrede, that a lion, kept purposely from food, shall be turned
loose upon Richard. But the king's daughter having fallen in
love with him, tells him of her father's resolution, and at his
request procures him forty ells of white silk 'kerchers;' and here
the description of the combat begins :

Tlie kever-chefes ^ he toke on honde.

And aboute his arme he wonde ;

And thought in that ylke while,

To slee the lyon with some gyle.

And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode.

And abode the lyon fyers and wode,

"With that came the jaylere.

And other men that wyth him were.

And the lyon them amonge ;

His pawes were stiffe and stronge.

The chamber dore they undone.

And the lyon to them is gone.

Rycharde sayd, Helpe, lorde Jesu!

The lyon made to him venu.

And wolde hym have all to rente :

Kynge Rycharde besyde hym glente.^

The lyon on the breste hym spurned.

That aboute he tourned.

The lyon was hongry and megre.

And bette his tayle to be egre;

He loked aboute as he were raadde;

Abrode he all Lis pawes spradde.

He cryed lowde, and yaned^ wyde.

Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde

"What hym was beste, and to hym sterte.

In at the throte his honde he gerte.

^ On this Story Scott founds the interchange of blows between Richard and
Friar Tuck in ' Ivanhoe.' — Ed. — ' i.e. Handkercliiefs. Here we have the
ttyniology of the word, viz., ' Couvrc le Clicf.' — ' i.e. slipt aside, — * i.e.
yawned.

XXn RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And hente out the herte with his honde,

Lounge and all that he there fonde.
The lyon fell deed to the grounde :
Rycharde felte no wem,i ne wounde,
He fell on his knees on that place.

And thanked Jesu of his grace.

* * * w *

"Wliat follows is not so Avell, and therefore I shall extract no more
of this poem. — For the above feat the author tells us, the king was
deservedly called

* Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne.*

That distich which Shakespeare puts in the mouth of his mad-
man in K. Lear, Act. 3, Sc. 4.

' Mice and Rats and such small deere
Have been Tom's food for seven long yeare/

has excited the attention of the critics. Instead of deere, one of
them would substitute geer; and another cheer.^ But the ancient
reading is established by the old Romance of Sir Bevis, which
Shakespeare had doubtless often heard sung to the harp. This
distich is part of a description there given of the hardships suffered
by Bevis, when confined for seven years in a dungeon :

* Rattes and myse and such small dere
Was his meate that seven yere.' Sign. F. iii.

III. In different parts of this work, the reader will find various
extracts from these old poetical legends; to which I refer him for
farther examples of their style and metre. To complete this sub-
ject, it will be proper at least to give one specimen of their skill in
distributing and conducting their fable, by which it will be seen
that nature and common sense had supplied to these old simple
bards the want of critical art, and taught them some of the most

essential rules of Epic Poetry. 1 shall select the Komance of

Lihius Disconms,^ as being one of those mentioned by Chaucer, and
either shorter or more intelligible than the others he has quoted.

If an Epic Poem may be defined, ' ^ a fable related by a poet, to
excite admiration, and inspire virtue, by representing the action
of some one hero, favoured by heaven, who executes a great design,
in spite of all the obstacles that oppose him :' I know not why we

1 i.e. hurt. — ^ Dr. "Warburton. — Dr. Grey. — ^ So it is intitled in the Editor's
MS. But the true title is Le heaux desconus, or the fair unknown. See a note
on the Canterbury Tales, Vol. IV. p. 333. — * Vid. ' Discours sur la Poesie
Epique,' prefixed to Telemaque.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METllICAL IIOMANCES. XXlll

should "vntlihold the name of Epic Poem from the piece which I am
about to analyse.

My copy is divided into IX Parts or Cantos, the several argu-
ments of which are as follows.

Part I.

Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention : the Hero is
described ; a natural son of Sir Gawain a celebrated knight of king
Arthur's court, who being brought up in a forest by his mother, is
kept ignorant of his name and descent. He early exhibits marks
of his courage, by killing a knight in single combat, who encoun-
tered him as he was hunting. This inspires him with a desire of
seeking adventures; therefore, clothing himself in his enemy's
armour, he goes to K. Arthur's court, to request the order of
knighthood. His request granted, he obtains a promise of having

the first adventure assigned him that shall offer. A damsel

named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, comes to imj^lore K. Arthur's
assistance, to rescue a young princess, ' the Lady of Sinadone' their
mistress, who is detained from her rights, and confined in prison.
The adventure is claimed by the young knight Sir Lybius : the
king assents; the messengers are dissatisfied, and object to his
youth ; but are forced to acquiesce. And here the first book closes
with a description of the ceremony of equipping him forth.

Part II.

Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure: he is derided by the dwarf
and the damsel on account of his youth : they come to the bridge
of Perill, which none can pass without encountering a knight called
William de la Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged : they joust with
their spears : De la Braunch is dismounted : the battle is renewed
on foot : Sir William's sword breaks : he yields. Sir Lybius makes
him swear to go and present himself to K. Arthur, as the first-
fruits of his valour. The conquered knight sets out for K. Arthur's
court : is met by three knights, his kinsmen; who, informed of his
disgi-ace, vow revenge, and pursue the conqueror. The next day
they overtake him : the eldest of the three attacks Sir L3^bius ; but
is overthrown to the ground. Tlie two other brothers assault him :
Sir Lybius is wounded : yet cuts off the second brother's arm : the
third yields : Sir Ly])ius sends them all to K. Arthur. In the tliird
evening he is awaked by the dwarf, wlio has discovered a fire in tlie
wood.

XXIV RELIQUES OF A^'CIENT POETRY.

Part III.
Sir Lybiiis arms himself, and leaps on horseback : he finds two
Giants roasting a wild boar, who have a fair Lady their captive.
Sir Lybius, by favour of the night, runs one of them through with
his spear : is assaulted by the other : a fierce battle ensues : he cuts
off the giant's arm, and at length his head. The rescued Lady (an
Earl's daughter) tells him her story ; and leads him to her father's
castle ; who entertains him with a great feast ; and presents him
at parting with a suit of armour and a steed. He sends the giant's
head to K. Arthur.

Part IV.

Sir Lybius, maid Ellen, and the dwarf, renew their journey :
they see a castle stuck round with human heads; and are informed
it belongs to a knight called Sir Geff'eron, who, in honour of his
lemman or mistress, challenges all comers. He that can produce a
fairer lady, is to be rewarded with a milk-white falcon, but if over-
come, to lose his head. Sir Lybius spends the night in the adjoin-
ing town : in the morning goes to challenge the falcon. The
knights exchange their gloves : they agree to joust in the market
place : the lady and maid Ellen are placed aloft in chairs : their
dresses: the superior beauty of Sir Gefferon's mistress described:
the ceremonies previous to the combat. They engage i the com-
bat described at large : Sir Gefieron is incurably hurt ; and
carried home on his shield. Sir Lybius sends the falcon to K.
Arthur; and receives back a large present in florins. He stays
forty days to be cured of his wounds, which he spends in feasting
with the neighbouring lords.

Part V.
Sir Lybius proceeds for Sinadone : in a forest he meets a knight
hunting, called Sir Otes de Lisle : maid Ellen charmed with a very
beautiful dog, begs Sir Lybius to bestow him upon her : Sir Otes
meets tliem^ and claims his dog : is refused : being unarmed he rides
to his castle, and summons his followers : they go in quest of Sir
Lybius : a battle ensues : he is still victorious, and forces Sir Otes
to follow the other conquered knights to K. Arthur.

Paet YI.
Sir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle by a river-side, beset
round with pavilions or tents : he is informed, in the castle is a beauti-
ful lady besieged by a giant named Maugys, who keeps the bridge,
and will let none pass without doing him homage : this Lybius re-

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XXV

fuses : a battle ensues : the giant described ; the several incidents
of the battle ; which lasts a whole summer's day : the giant is
wounded ; put to flight ; slain. The citizens come out in proces-
sion to meet their deliverer : the lady invites him into her castle :
falls in love with him ; and seduces him to her embraces. He for-
gets the princess of Sinadone, and stays with tliis bewitching lady
a twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, like another Alcina, intoxicates
him with all kinds of sensual pleasure ; and detains him from the
pursuit of honour.

Part VII.

Maid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity of speaking to him ;
and upbraids him with his vice and folly : he is filled with remorse,
and escapes the same evening. At length he arrives at the city
and castle of Sinadone : Is given to understand that he must
challenge the constable of the castle to single combat, before he
can be received as a guest. They joust : the constable is worsted :
Sir Lybius is feasted in the castle : he declares his intention of
delivering their lady; and inquires the particulars of her history,
'Two Necromancers have built a fine palace by sorcery, and there
keep her in chanted, till she will surrender her duchy to them, and
yield to such base conditions as they would impose.'

Part VIII.

Early on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out for the inchanted
palace. He alights in the court : enters the hall : the wonders
of which are described in strong Gothic painting. He sits down
at the high table : on a sudden all the lights are quenched : it
thunders, and lightens; the palace shakes; the walls fall in pieces
about his ears. He is dismayed and confounded : but presently
hears horses neigh, and is challenged to single combat by the
sorcerers. He gets to his steed : a battle ensues, with various
turns of fortune : he loses his weapon ; but gets a sword from one
of the Necromancers, and wounds the other with it : the edge of
the sword being secretly poisoned, the wound proves mortal.

Part IX.

He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who is carried away from
him by enchantment: at length he finds him, and cuts off his
head; He returns to the palace to deliver the lady; but cannot
find her: as he is lamenting, a window opens, through which
entei-s a horrible serpent with wings and a woman's face : it coils

XXVI RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

round his neck and kisses him ; then is suddenly converted into a
very beautiful lady. She tells him she is the lady of Sinadone,
and was so inchanted, till she might kiss Sir Gawain, or some one of
his blood: that he has dissolved the charm, and that herself and
her dominions may be his reward. The Knight (whose descent
is by this means discovered) joyfully accepts the offer; makes her
his bride, and then sets out with her for King Arthur's coui*t.

Such is the fable of this ancient piece : which the reader may
observe, is as regular in its conduct, as any of the finest poems of
classical antiquity. If the execution, particularly as to the diction
and sentiments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a capital
performance; but this is such as might be expected in rude and
ignorant times, and in a barbarous unpolished language.

lY. I shall conclude this prolix account, with a List of such old
Metrical Romances as are still extant; beginning with those men-
tioned by Chaucer.

1. The Romance of Home Childe is preserved in the British
Museum, where it is intitled *pe jeste of kyng Home.' See Cata-
log. Harl. MSS. 2253, p. 70. The language is almost Saxon, yet
from the mention in it of Saracens, it appears to have been written
after some of the Crusades. It begins thus :

All heo ben blype

p:it to my song ylype :

A son 5 ychulle ou sin 5

Of AUof pe jode kynje,! &c.

Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered, and somewhat
modernized, is preserved in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh,
in a MS. quarto volume of old English poetry [W. 4. i.] Num.
XXXIV. in seven leaves or folios, ^ intitled Ilovn-cliild and
Maiden Rinivel, and beginning thus:

Mi leve frende dere,
Herken and ye may here.

2. The Poem of Tpotis (or Ypotis) is preserved in the Cotton
Library, Calig. A. 2, fo. 77, but is rather a religious Legend, than
a Romance. Its beginning is.

He Jjat wyll of wysdome here
Herkeneth nowe ze may here

1 i.e. May all they be blithe, that to my song listen : A song 1 shall you sing,
Of Allof the good king, &c. — ^ In each full page of this Vol. are 44 lines, when
the poem is in long metre : and 88, when the metre is short, and the page in
two columns.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XX VII

Of a tale of holy wryte

Seyut Jou the Evangoljste wytnesseth hyt.

3. The Romance of Sir Guy was written before that of Bevis,
being quoted in it. ^ An account of this old poem is given below,
p. 83. To which it may be added, that two complete copies in
MS. are preserved at Cambridge, the one in the public library, ^

the other in that of Caius College, Class A. 8. In Ames's

Typog. p. 153, may be seen the first lines of the printed copy. —
The 1st MS. begins,

Sjthe the tyme that Grod was borne.

4. Guy and Colhronde, an old Romance in three parts, is pre-
served in the Editor's folio MS. (p. 349). It is in stanzas of six
lines, the first of which may be seen in vol. II. p. 141, beginning
thus:

When meate and drinke is great plentye.

In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two ancient
poems on the subject of Guy of Warwick: viz. !N"um. XYIII.
containing 26 leaves, and XX. 59 leaves. Both these have un-
fortunately the beginnings wanting, otherwise they would perhaps
be found to be difierent copies of one or both the preceding articles.

5. From the same MS. I can add another article to this list,
viz. The Romance of Eemhrun son of Sir Guy ; being Num. XXI.
in 9 leaves : this is properly a Continuation of the History of Guy :
and in Art. 3, the Hist, of Rembrun follows that of Guy as a
necessary Part of it. This Edinburgh Romance of Rembrun be-
gins thus :

Jesu that erst of mighte most
Fader and sone and Holy Ghost.

Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must observe, that
if we may believe Dugdale in his Baronage, [vol. I. p. 243, col. 2.]
the fame of our English Champion had in the time of Henry IV.
travelled as far as the East, and was no less popular among the
Saracens, than here in the "West among the nations of Christendom.
In that reign a Lord Beauchamp travelling to Jerusalem, was
kindly received by a noble person, the Soldan's Lieutenant, who
hearing he was descended from the famous Guy of Warwick,

1 Sign. K. 2. b. — * For this and most of the following, which arc mentioned
as preserved in the Public Library, I refer the reader to the Oxon Catalogue of
MSS. 1G97, vol, II. p. 391; in Appendix to Bp. Morc's MSS. No. GOO, 33,
since given to the University of Cambridge.

XXVm RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

' whose story they liad in books of their own language,' invited him
to his pahxce ; and royally feasting him, presented him with three
precious stones of great value; besides divers cloths of silk and
gold given to his servants.

6. The Romance of Syr Bevis is described in the introduction to
No. I. Book III. of this vol. Two manuscript copies of this poem
are extant at Cambridge; viz. in the Public Library,^ and in that
of Caius Coll. Class A. 9 (5.) — The first of these begins,

Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale.

There is also a copy of this Romance of Sir Bevis of Hamptoun,

in the Edinburgh MS. Numb. XXII. consisting of 25 leaves, and

beginning thus :

Lordinges herknetli to mi tale,
Is merier than the nightengale.

The printed copies begin different from both, viz. :

Listen, Lordinges, and hold you styL

7. Liheaux {Liheaus or Lyhius) Dlsconius is preserved in tho

Editor's folio MS. (pag. 317,) where the first stanza is,

Jesus Christ christen kinge.

And his mother that sweete thinge,

Helpe them at their neede,
That will listen to my tale.
Of a Knight I will you tell,

A doughty man of deede.

An older copy is j^reserved in the Cotton Library [Calig. A 2. ful.
40,] but containing such innumerable variations, that it is appa-
rently a different translation of some old French original, which
will account for the title of Ze Beaux DesconitSf or The Fair
Unknown. The first line is,

Jesu Christ our Savyour.

As for Pleindamourj or BlandamouVj no Romance with this title
has been discovered; but as the word Blaxmdemere occurs in the
Romance of Lihius Disconius, in the Editor's folio MS. p. 319, he
thought the name of Blandamoure (which was in all the editions
of Chaucer he had seen) might have some reference to this. But
Pleindamour, the name restored by Mr Tyrwhitt, is more remote.

8. Le Morte A rthure is among the Harl. MSS. 2252, § 49. This
is judged to be a translation from the French; Mr Wanley thinks
it no older than the time of Hen. vii. but it seems to be quoted in
Syr Bevis, (Sign. K. ij. b.) It begins.

Lordinges, that are lesse and deare,
1 No 690, §. 31. Vid. Catalog. MSS. p. 394.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. Xxix

In tlie Library of Bennett Coll. Cambridge, No. 351, is a MS.
intitled in the Catalogue Acta Arthuris Metrico Anglicano, but I
know not its contents.

9. In the Editor's folio MS. are many Songs and Komances
about King Arthur and his Knights, some of which are very im-
perfect, as K. Arthur and the king of Cornwall^ (p^g- 24,) in stanzas
of 4 lines, beginning,

[Come here,] my cozen Gawaine so gay.

The Turlc and Gaivain (p. 38), in stanzas of G lines, beginning

thus :

Listen lords great and small ;

but these are so imperfect that I do not make distinct articles of
them. See also in this Volume, Book I., No. I. II. IV. V.

In the same MS. p. 203, is the Greene Knight, in 2 Parts, re-
lating a curious adventure of Sir Gawain, in stanzas of 6 lines, be-
ginning thus:

List : wen Arthur he was k :

10. The Carle of Carlisle is another romantic tale about Sir
Gawain, in the same MS. p. 448, in distiches:

Listen : to me a little stond.

In all these old poems the same set of knights are always repre-
sented with the same manners and characters ; which seem to have
been as well known, and as distinctly marked among our ancestors,
as Homer's Heroes were among the Greeks : for, as Ulysses is al-
ways represented crafty, Achilles irascible, and Ajax rough ; so
Sir Gawain is ever courteous and gentle. Sir Kay rugged and dis-
obligins:, &c. * Sir Gawain with his olde curtesie ' is mentioned bv
Chaucer as noted to a proverb, in his Squire's Tale. Canterb.
Tales, Vol. II. p. 104.

11. Syr Launfal, an excellent old Romance concerning another
of K. Arthur's Knights, is preserved in the Cotton Library, Calig.
A. 2, f. 33. This is a translation from the French,^ made by one
Thomas Chestre, who is supposed to have lived in the reign of Hen.
vi. [See Tanner's Biblioth.] It is in stanzas of six lines, and be-
gins,

Be douzty Artours dawcs.

The above was afterwards altered by some Minstrel into the Ro-
mance of Sir Lamhewell, in three parts, under which title it was

1 The French Original is preserved among the Ilarl. MSS. No. 978, § 112.
Laiival.

XXX RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

more generally known. ^ This is in tlie Editor's folio MS. p. CO,
beginning thus :

Doughty ia king Arthures dayes.

12. Eger and Grime, in six parts (in the Editors folio MS. p.
124), is a well invented tale of chivalry, scarce inferior to any of
Ariosto's. This which was inadvertently omitted in the former
editions of this list, is in distichs, and begins thus :

It fell sometimes in the Land of Beame.

13. The Komance of Merline, in nine parts (preserved in the
same folio MS. p. 145), gives a curious account of the birth, parent-
age, and juvenile adventures of this famous British Prophet. In
this poem the Saxons are called Sarazens; and the thrusting the
rebel angels out of Heaven is attributed to * oure Lady.' It is in
distichs, and begins thus :

He that made with his hand.

There is an old Komance Of Arthur and of Merlin, in the Edin-
burgh MS. of old English Poems : I know not whether it has any-
thing in common with this last mentioned. It is in the volume
numbered XXIII. and extends through 55 leaves. The two first

lines are,

Jesu Crist, heven king
Al ous graunt gode ending.

14. Sir Isenhras, (or as it is in the MS. copies. Sir Isumbras) is
quoted in Chaucer's R. of Thop. v. 6. Among Mr Garrick's old
plays is a printed copy ; of which an account has been already given
in Vol. I. Book III. No. YIII. It is preserved in MS. in the
Library of Caius Coll. Camb. Class A. 9. (2,) and also in the Cotton
Library, Calig. A. 12. (f. 128.) This is extremely different from
the printed copy, E. g.

God J)at made both erjje and hevene.

15. Emare, a very curious and ancient Komance, is preserved in
the same Vol. of the Cotton Library, f. 69. It is in stanzas of six
lines, and begins thus :

Jesu J>at ys kyng in trone.

16. Chevelere assigne, or, The Knight of the Swan, preserved in
the Cotton Library, has been already described in Yol. II., Essay
on P. Plowman's Metre, &c., as hath also

1 See Laneham's Letter concern. Q. Eliz. entertainment at Killingworth,
1575, 12mo, p. 34.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XXXI

17. The Sege of Jcrlam, (or Jerusalem) which seems to have been
written after the other, and may not improperly be classed among
the Romances ; as may also the following, which is preserved in
the same volume : viz.

18. Oivaine Myles, (fol. 90,) giving an account of the wonders of
St Patrick's Purgatory. This is a translation into verse of the story
related in IMat. Paris's Hist, (sub Ann. 1153.) — It is in distichs
beginnins: thus :

God J)at ys so full of myglit.

In the same Manuscript are three or four other narrative poems,
which might be reckoned among the Komances, but being rather
religious Legends, I shall barely mention them; as Tundale, f. 17.
Trentale Sci Gregoriiy f. 84. Jerome, f. 133. Bustache, f. 136.

1 9. Odavian imperator, an ancient Romance of Chivalry, is in the
same vol. of the Cotton Library, f. 20. — Notwithstanding the name,
this old poem has nothing in common with the history of the Ro-
man Emperors. It is in a very peculiar kind of Stanza, whereof 1,
2, 3, & 5, rhyme together, as do the 4 and 6. It begins thus :

Ihesu Jjat was with spere ystonge.

In the public Library at Cambridge,^ is a poem with the same
title, that begins very differently :

Lyttyll and mykll, olde and yonge.

20. E glamour of Alias (or AHoys) is preserved in the same Vol.
with the foregoing, both in the Cotton Library, and public Library
at Cambridge. It is also in the Editor's folio MS. p. 295, where
it is divided into six Parts. — A printed copy is in the Bodleian
Library, C. 39. Art. Seld., and also among Mr Garrick's old plays,
K. vol. X. It is in distichs, and begins thus :

Ihesu Crist of heven kyng.

21. Syr Triamore (in stanzas of six lines) is preserved in MS.
in the Editor's volume, p. 210, and in the public Library at
Cambridge, (690, § 29. Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 394.)— Two printed
copies are extant in the Bodleian Library, and among ]\Ir Garrick's
plays in the same volumes with the last article. Both the Editor's
MS. and the printed copies begin,

Nov\e Jesu Chryste our heven kynge.
The Cambridge copy thus :

Heven blys that all shall wynne.

22. Sir Degree {Degare or Degore, which last seems the true title)

1 No. GOO, (30.) Vid. Oxon. Catalog. MSS. p. 301.

XXXll IlELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

in five parts, in distichs, is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. p.

371, and in the public Library at Cambridge, (ubi supra.) A

print(;d copy is in the Bod. Library, C. 39. Art. Seld., and among

Mr Garrick's plays K. vol IX. — The Editor's MS. and the printed

copies begin,

Lordinge, and you wyl Lolde you styl,

The Cambridge MS. has it,

Lystenyth, lordyngis, gente and fre.

23. Ipomydon, (or Chylde Ipomydon) is preserved among the
Harl. MSS. 2252, (44.) It is in distichs, and begins,

IMekely, lordyngis, gentylle and fre.
In the Library of Lincoln Cathedral, K. k. 3. 10. is an old im-
perfect printed copy wanting the whole first sheet A.

24. The Squyy of Lowe degre, is one of those burlesqued by

Chaucer in his E-hyme of Thopas.^ — Mr Garrick has a printed

copy of this among his old plays, K. vol IX. It begins,

It was a squyer of lowe degre,

That loved the kings daughter of Hungre.

25. Historye of K. lUchard Cure [Cceii?'] de Lyon, [Impr. "W. de
Worde, 1528, 4to,] is preserved in the Bodleian Library, C. 39. Art.
Selden. A fragment of it is also remaining in the Edinburgh MS. of
old English poems ; Num. XXXYI. in 2 leaves. A large Extract
from this romance has been given already above. Bichard was the
peculiar patron of Chivalry, and favourite of the old Minstrels, and
Troubadours. See Warton's Observ. Yol. I. p. 29 ; Vol. IT. p. 40.

26. Of the following I have only seen No. 27, but I believe they
may all be referred to the Class of Bomances.

The Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Faguel (Bodl. Lib. C.
39. Art. Seld. a printed copy.) This Mr Warton thinks is the
Story of Coucy's Heart, related in Fauchet, and in Howel's Letters.
[V. I. S. 6. L. 20. See Wart. Obs. Y. XL p. 40.] The Editor
has seen a very beautiful old ballad on this subject in French.

27. The four following are all preserved in the MS. so often
referred to in the public Library at Cambridge (690. Appendix to
Bp. More's MSS. in Cat. MSS. Tom. IL p. 394.) viz. The Lay of Erie
of Tholouse, (No. 27,) of Avhich the Editor hath also a copy from
' Cod. MSS. Mus. Ashmol. Oxon.' The first line of both is,

Jesu Chryste in Tiynyte.

1 This is alluded to by Shakespeare in his Hen. V. (Act 5.) where Fluellyn
tells Pistol, he will make him a Squire of Low Degree, when he means to knock
him down.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XXXUl

28. Rohird Kynge of Cy^yll (or Sicily) shcwinoj the fill of Prido.
Of this there is also a copy among the Harl. IMSS. 1703. (3.) The
Caiiibriilgo MS. begins,

Princis that be prowde in prese.

29. Le bone Florence of Borne, beginning thus :

As ferre as men ride or gone.

30. Dioclesian the Emperour, beginning,

Sum tyme ther was a noble man.

31. The two knightly brothers Amys and AmeXion (among the
Harl. MSS. 2386, § 42.) is an old Romance of Chivalry; as is also,
I believe, the fragment of the Lady Belesant, the diilce of Lom-
bnrdys fair daughter, mentioned in the same article. See the
Catalog. Vol. II.

32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to (preserved in
the Advocates Library, W. 4. 1.) might probably be found some
other articles to add to this list, as well as other copies of some of
the pieces mentioned in it; for the whole Volume contains not
fewer than xxxvii Poems or Komances, some of them very long.
But as many of them have lost the beginnings, which have been
cut out for the stake of the illuminations; and as I have not had
an opportunity of examining the MS. myself, I shall be content
to mention only the articles that follow : ^ viz.

An old Romance about Rouland (not I believe the famous
Paladine, but a champion named Rouland Louth ; query) being in
the Volume, Numb, xxvii. in five leaves, and wants the beginning.

33. Another Romance, that seems to be a kind of continuation
of this last, intitled, Otuel a knight, (Numb, xxviii. in 11 leaves
and a half) The two first lines are,

Herkneth both zinge and old,
That willen heren of battailes bold.

34. The King of Tars (Numb, iv, in 5 leaves and a half; it is
also in the Bodleyan Library, MS. Vernon, f. 304.) beginning

thus :

Herkneth to me bothe eld and zing.
For Maries love that swtte thing.

35. A Tale or Romance, (Numb. i. 2 leaves), that wants both

beginning and end. The first lines now remaining are,

Th Erl bira grauntod his-will y-wis. that the knicht him hadcn y told.
The liarounia that were of mikle pris. befor him thay weren y-cald.

' Some of thc'C I give, though mutilated and divested of their titles, because
they may enable a curious inquirer to C()mj)lote or improve other copies.

XXXIV RELIQUES OF AN'CIENT POETRY.

3G. Another mutilated Tule of Ptomance (No. iii. 4 leaves).
The first lines at present are,

To Mr Steward wil y gon. and tell^n him tlio sotho of the
lleseyved bestow sone a&on. gif zou will serve and with hir be.

37. A mutilated Talo or Romance (No. zi in 13 leaves). The
first lines that occur are,

That riche Dooke his fest gan hold
With Erla and with Baronns bold.

I cannot conclude my account of this curious Manuscript, with-
out acknowledging, that I was indebted to tlie friendship of the
Kev. Dr Blair, the ingenious Professor of Belles Letters, in the
University of Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its contents,
and for the important additions it enabled me to make to the fore-
going list.

To the preceding articles, two ancient Metrical Komances in the
Scottish dialect may now be added, which are published in Pinker-
ton's * Scottish Poems, reprinted from scarce Editions,' Lond. 1792,
in 3 Vols. 8vo, viz.

38. Gaivan and Gologras, a Metrical Romance ; from an edition
printed at Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo, beginning.

In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me tald.

It is in stanzas of 13 lines.

30. Sir Gawan and Sir Galaron of Galloway, a Metrical Komance,

in the same stanzas as No. 38, from an ancient MS. beginning

thus :

In the tyme of Arthur an aunter^ betydde

By the Turuwathelan, as the boke tells ;

Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror kyd, &c.

Both these (which exhibit the union of the old alliterative metre,
with rhyme, &c. and in the termination of each stanza the short
triplets of the Turnament of Totenham) are judged to be as old as
the time of our K. Henry YI. being apparently the production of
an old Poet, thus mentioned by Dunbar, in his ' Lament for the
Deth of the Makkaris :'

* Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take.
That made the aventers of Sir Gawan e.*

It will scarce be necessary to remind the Header, that Twne-

vjothelan is evidently Tearne-Wadling, celebrated in the old Ballad

of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine. See pp. 12, and 287, of this

Yolume.

1 i.e. Adventure.

ESSAY ON THE ANCIENT METRICAL ROMANCES. XXXV

IMuiiy new references, and perhaps some additional articles might
be added to tlie foregoing list from Mr Warton's History of Eng-
lish Poetry, 3 vols. 4to, and from the Notes to Mr Tyrwliitt's im-
proved Edition of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, &c. in 5 Vols. 8vo,
which have been published since this Essay, (fee. was first composed ;
but it will be sufficient once for all to refer the curious Header to
tliose popular Works.

The reader will also see many interesting particulars on the sub-
ject of these volumes, as well as on most points of general litera-
ture, in Sir John Hawkins's curious History of Music, &c. in 5
volumes, 4to, as also in Dr Burney's Hist. (fee. in 4 vols. 4to.

THE END OF THE ESSAY.

RELiaUES OF ANCIENT POETRY, ETC.

SEEIES THE THIED.

BOOK I.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE

Is printed verbatim from the old MS. described in the Preface. The

Editor believes it more ancient than it will appear to be at first sight; the
transcriber of that manuscript having reduced the orthography and style in
many instances to the standard of his own times.

The incidents of the Mantle and the Knife have not, that I can recollect,
been borrowed from any other writer. The former of these evidently suggested
to Spenser his conceit of Florimel's Girdle. B. iv. C. 5. St. 3.

'That pirdle gave the virtue of chaste love
And wivehoocl truje to all that did it beare;
But whosoever contrarie doth prove,
Might not the same about her middle weare,
But it would loose or else asunder teare.'

So it happened to the false Florimel, st. IG, when

'Being brought, about her middle sninll

They thought to gird, as best it her became,

But by no means they could it thereto frame,

For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd

And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c.
That all men wondrcd at the uncouth sight

And each one thought as to their fancies came.

But she herself did think it done for spight.

And touched was with secret wrath and siiaiuo

Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame :

Then many other ladies likewise trido

About their tender loyncs to knit tlie same,

But it would not on none of them abide,
But when they thought it fist, eftsoones it was untido.
Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre,

Till tiiat at last the gentle Anioret

VOL. III. A

2 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Likewise assayed to prove that girdle'n powre.
And huvlnp it about her middle set
Did find it fit withouten breach or let,
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie.
But Floriiuel exceedingly did fret
And snatching from her hand,' &c.

As for the trial of the Ilonie^ it is not peculiar to our Poet: It occurs in the
ok! romance, intitled 'Morte Arthur,' which was translated out of French in
the time of K. £dw. IV. and first printed anno 1484. From that romance
Ariosto is thought to have borrowed his tale of the Enchanted Cup, C. 42, &c.
See Mr Warton's ' Observations on the Faerie Queen,' &c.

The story of the Horn in Morte Arthur varies a good deal from this of

our Poet, as the reader will judge from the following extract. 'By the

way they met with a knight that was sent from Mirgan la Faye to king
Arthur, and this knight had a fair home all garnished with gold, and the
home had such a virtue, that there might no ladye or gentlewoman drinke of
that home, but if she were true to her husband: and if shee were false she
should spill all the drinke, and if shee were true unto her lorde, she might drink
peaceably : and because of queene Guenever, and in despite of Sir Launcelot du

Lake, this home was sent unto king Arthur,' This horn is intercepted and

brought unto another king named Marke, who is not a whit more fortunate
than the British hero, for he makes ' his qeene drinke thereof and an hundred
ladies moe, and there were but foure ladies of all those that drank cleane' of
which number the said queen proves not to be one [Book II. chap. 22. Ed. 1G32.]

In other respects the two stories are so different, that we have just reason
to suppose this Ballad was written before that romance was translated into
English.

As for queen Guenever, she is here represented no otherwise than in the old
Histories and Romances. Holinshed observes, that ' she was evil reported of,
as noted of incontinence and breach of faith to hir husband.' Vol. I. p. 93.

i^° Such Readers, as have no relish for pure antiquity, will find a more
modern copy of this Ballad at the end of the volume.

In the third day of may.
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.

A kirtle and a mantle 5

This child had uj)pon,
With [broiiches] and ringes
Full richelye bedone.

He had a sute of silke

About his middle drawne; lo

Ver. 7, Branches, MS.

THE 130Y AND THE MANTLE. 3

Witliout lie cold of curtcsyo
Ho thought itt much shame.

* God speed thee, Idng Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate :

And the goodly queene Guenever, is

I cannott her forgett.

I tell you, lords, in this hall;

I hett you all to [heede] ;

Except you be the more surer

Is you for to dread.^ 20

He plucked out of his [poterner,]
And longer wold not dwell,
He pulldd forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.

* Have thou here, king Arthur ; 25
Have thou heere of mee :

Give itt to thy comely queene
Shapen as itt is alreadye.

* Itt shall never become that wiffe,

That hath once done amisse/ 30

Then every knight in the kings court
Began to care for [his.]

Forth came dame Guenever;

To the mantle shee her [hied] ;

The ladye she was newf angle, 35

But yett shee was affrayd.

\cr. 18, heate, MS.— Vcr. 21, potervcr, MS.— Vcr. 32, liis witFo, 3IS.— Vcr.
34, bided, MS.

IlELIQUES OF A^'CIENT POETRY.

When slice had taken the mantle ;

She stoode as shee had beene madd ;

It was from the top to the toe

As sheeres had itt shrcad. 40

One while was itt [gule] ;
Another while was itt grcene ;
Another while was itt wadded :
111 itt did her beseeme.

Another while was it blacke 45

And bore the worst hue :

* By my troth/ quoth king Arthur,

* I thinke thou be not true/

Shee threw downe the mantle,

That bright was of blee ; so

Fast with a rudd redd,

To her chamber can shee flee.

She curst the weaver, and the walker.
That clothe that had wrought ;
And bade a vengeance on his crowne, 65

That hither hath itt brought.

* I had rather be in a wood,
Under a greene tree ;
Then in king Arthurs cornet

Shamed for to bee/ eo

Kay called forth his ladye.
And bade her come neere ;
Sales, * Madam, and thou be guiltye,
I pray thee hold thee there.'

Ver. 41, gaule, MS.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 5

Forth came his ladyo 65

Shortlye and anon;
Bokllye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.

Wien she had tane the mantle.

And cast it her about; 7o

Then was shee bare

[Before all the rout.]

Then every knight,

That was in the kings court,

Talked, laughed, and sho^^i:ed 75

Full oft att that sport.

She threw downe the mantle,

That bright was of blee;

Fast, with a red rudd,

To her chamber can shee flee. so

Forth came an old knio'ht
Pattering ore a creede.
And he preferred to this little boy
Twenty markes to his meede ;

And all the time of the Christmasse 85

Willinglye to fFeede;

For why this mantle might

Doe his wiffe some need.

AMien she had tane the mantle,

Of cloth that was made, 90

Shee had no more left on her.

But a tasscll and a threed :

Ver. 75, laugcd, MS. /

RELIQUES OF ANX^IENT POETRY.

Then every knight in the kings court
Bade cvill might shee speed.

Shoe threw downe the mantle, 95

That bright was of blee ;
And fast, with a redd rudd.
To her chamber can shee flee.

Craddocke called forth his ladye,

And bade her come in; loo

Saith, * Winne this mantle, ladye,

With a little dinne.

Winne this mantle, ladye,

And it shal be thine,

If thou never did amisse 105

Since thou wast mine.'

Forth came Craddockes ladye

Shortlye and anon;

But boldlye to the mantle

Then is shee gone. no

When shee had tane the mantle,

And cast itt her about,

Upp att her great toe

It began to crinkle and crowt :

Shee said, * bowe downe, mantle, ii5

And shame me not for nought,

Once I did amisse,

I tell you certainlye,

When I kist Craddockes mouth

Under a greene tree ; 120

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 7

AVlicn I kist Cradclockcs mouth
Before lie inarrved mco/

When shcc had her shreevcn,

And her sines shee had toldo ;

The mantle stoode about her 125

l\ii>ht as shee wold :

Seemelye of coulour

Ghtterino; like a'old :

Then every knight in Arthurs court

Did her behold. 130

Then spake dame Guenever
To Arthur our king ;
* She hath tane yonder mantle
Not with right, but with wronge.

See you not yonder w^oman, 135

That maketli her self soe [cleane] 1
I have seene tane out of her bedd
Of men fiveteene ;

Priests, clarkes, and wedded men

From her bedeene: 140

Yett shee taketh the mantle,

And maketh her self cleane.'

Then spake the litle boy.

That kept the mantle in hold ;

Sayes, * king, chasten thy wiffe, 145

Of her words shee is to bold :

Vor. ini, M-ri^ri.t, ]MS._Yer. 1.%, clcaie, MS.— Vcr. 1 10, ly docne, MS.

8 KELIQLES OF ANCIENT POETKV.

She is a bitch and a witch.

And a whore bold :

King, in thine owne hall

Thou art a cuckold/ i5o

The litle boy stoode
Looking out a dore;
[And there as he was lookinge
He was ware of a wyld bore.]

He was ware of a wyld bore, 155

Wold have werryed a man :

He pulld forth a wood knifFe,

Fast thither that he ran :

He brought in the bores head.

And quitted him like a man. ico

He brought in the bores head.

And was wonderous bold :

He said ' there was never a cuckolds kniffe

Carve itt that cold/

Some rubbed their knives les

Uppon a whetstone :

Some threw them under the table.

And said they had none.

King Arthur, and the child

Stood looking upon them ; 170

All their knives edges

Turned backe againe.

Craddocke had a little knive
Of iron and of Steele ;

Ver. 170, them upon, MS.

THE BOY A^D THE MANTLE.

He britlcd the bores head 175

Wonderous weele ;

That every knight in the kings court

Had a morssell.

•

The little boy had a home,

Of red gold that ronge : I80

Pie said, ' there was noe ciickolde

Shall drinke of my home ;

But he shold it sheede

Either behind or beforne.'

Some shedd on their shoulder, i85

And some on their knee;

He that cold not hitt his mouthe,

Put it in his eye :

And he that was a cuckold

Every m^ might him see: 190

Craddocke wan the home.

And the bores head :

His ladie wan the mantle

Unto her meede.

Everye such a lovely ladye, 195

God send her well to speede.

Ver. 175, or birtled, MS.

10 UELIQUES OF ANCIKNT rOEIRY.

II.

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

Is chiefly taken from the fragment of an old ballad in the Editor's MS.

which he has reason to believe more ancient than the time of Chaucer, and
what furnished that bard with his Wife of Bath's Tale. The original was so
extremely mutilated, half of every leaf being torn away, that without large
supplements, &c. it was deemed improper for this collection: these it has
therefore received, such as they are. They are not here particularly pointed
out, because the Fragment itself will now be found printed at the end of this
volume.

PART THE FIRST.

King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,

And seemely is to see;
And there with him queene Guenevcr,

That bride soe bridit of blee.

And there with him queene Guenever, 5

That bride so bright in bo\vre :
And all his barons about him stoode,

That were both stiffe and stowre.

The king a royale Christmasse kept,

With mirth and princelye cheare; lo

To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.

And when they were to dinner sette,

And cups went freely round;
Before them came a faire damselle, is

And knelt upon the ground.

* A boone, a boone, O kmge Arthure,

I beg a boone of thee ;
Avenge me of a carHsh knighte,

Who hath shcnt my love and mee. 20

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 1 1

At Tcanic-Wadling^ his castle stands,

Near to tliat lake so fair.
And proudlye rise the battlements,

And streamers deck the air.

Noe gentle knight, nor ladye gay, 25

May pass that castle-walle :
But from that foule discurteous knighte,

Mishappe will them befalle.

Hee 's t\vyce the size of common men,

Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge, so

And on his backe he bears a clubbe.
That is both thicke and longe.

This gTimme barbne 'twas our harde happe,

But yester morne to see ;
When to his bowre he bare my love, 35

And sore misused mee.

And when I told him, king Artlmre

As lyttle shold him spare ;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge.

To meete mee if he dare/ 40

Upp then sterted king Arthtire,

And sware by hille and dale.
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barone.

Till he had made him quail.

* Goe fetch my sword Excalibar ; 45

Goe saddle mee my steede ;

* Tcjirne-Wadling is the name of a small lake near Ilcskcth in Cumberland,
on the road from Penrith to Carlisle. There is a tradition, that an old castle
once stood near the lake, the remains of which were not loiifj since visible.
* Team,' in the dialect of that country, signihes a small lake, and is still in use.

12 UELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Nowc, by my faye, that grimmo baroiio
Shall rue this ruthfuUe deede/

And when he came to Teame Wadlinge

Bonethe the castle walle : 50

* Come forth ; come forth ; thou proude barbne.
Or yiclde thyself my tliralle/

On magicke grounde that castle stoode,

And f enc'd with many a spelle :
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 55

But straite his courage felle.

Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,

King Arthur f elte the charme :
His stm'dy sinewes lost their strengihe,

Do^\TLe sunke his feeble arme. eo

' Nowe yield thee, yield thee, kinge Arthiire,

Now yield thee, unto mee :
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,

Noe better termes maye bee,

Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 65

And promise on thy faye.
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling,

Upon the new-yeare's daye ;

And bringe me worde what thing it is

All women moste desyre; 7o

This is thy ransome, Arthur,' he sayes,
' He have noe other hyi^e/

King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sware upon his faye ;

THE MARRIAGE OF iJlR GAAVAINE. 13

Then tookc his leave of the grimme barone 75
And faste hee rode awaye.

And he rode east, and he rode west.

And did of all inquyre.
What thing it is all women crave.

And what they most desyre. so

Some told him riches, pompe, or state ;

Some rayment fine and brighte ;
Some told him mirthe ; some flatterye ;

And some a jollye knighte.

In letters all king Arthur wrote, 85

And seal'd them with his ringe :
But still his minde was helde in doubte.

Each tolde a different thinge.

As nithfulle he rode over a more,

He saw a ladye sette 90

Betweene an oke, and a greene holleye,

All clad in red ^ scarlette.

Her nose was crookt and turnd outwarde.

Her chin stoode all awrye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 95

Lo ! there was set her eye :

Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute

Her cheekes of deadly hewe :
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,

No man mote ever vicwe. 100

' This was a common phrase in our old writers ; so Chaucer, in his Prologue
to the Cant. Tales, says of the wife of Bath:

* Her hosen were of fync scarlet red.'

14 IIELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETKV.

To hail the king in secmolyc sorto

This ladye was fuUe faino;
But king- Artliure all sore amaz'd.

No aunswere made againe.

* \Vliat wight aii thou/ the ladye sayd, io5

* That wilt not speake to mee 1
Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
Though I bee foule to see/

* If thou wilt ease my paine/ he sayd,

' And helpe me in my neede; no

Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme ladye,
And it shall bee thy meede/

' 0 sweare mee this upon the roode,

And promise on thy faye;
And here the secrette I will telle, lis

That shall thy ransome paye/

King Arthur promised on his faye,

And sware upon the roode ;
The secrette then the ladye told,

As lightlye well shoe cou'de. 120

* Now, this shall be my paye, sir king,

And this my guerdon bee.
That some yong fair and courtlye knight.
Thou bringe to marrye mee/

Fast then pricked king Artlmre 125

Ore hille, and dale, and do^vne :
And soone he founde the barone's bowre :

And soone the giimme barotme.

THE MARKIAGE OF SIR CJAWAINE. 1 5

Ho bare his cliibbo upon his backo,

Hce stoode bothc stifFo and stronge; i30

And, when he had the letters reade,

Awaye the lottres flunge.

* Nowe yield thee, Arthur, and thy lands,

All forfeit unto mee ;
For this is not thy paye, sir king, 135

Nor may thy ransome bee/

* Yet hold thy hand, thou proud barbne,

I praye thee hold thy hand ;
And give mee leave to speake once more

In reskewe of my land. i^o

This morne, as I came over a more,

I saw a ladye sette
Betwene an oke, and a gTeene hoUeye,

All clad in red scarlette.

Shoe sayes, all women will have their wille, 145

This is their chief desyre ;
Now yield, as thou art a barone true,

That I have payd mine liyre/

* An earlye vengeaunce light on her !'

The carlish baron swore : iso

* Shoe was my sister tolde thee this,

And shoe 's a mishapen whore.

But here 1 will make mine avowe,

To do her as ill a turne :
For an ever I may tliat foule theefc gette, 155

In a fyre I will her burnc.'

IG ItKUQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

PART THE SECONDE.

IIoMEWARDE prickod king Artli^re,

And a wearye man was bee ;
And soone he mettc queen Guenever,

That bride so bright of blee.

* What newes ? what newes ? thou noble king, 5

Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped'?
Where hast thou hung the carbsh knighte '?
And where bestow'd his headT

' The carlish knight is safe for mee,

And free fro mortal harme: 10

On magicke grounde his castle stands,
And fenc'd with many a charme.

To bowe to him I was fulle faine.

And yielde mee to his hand :
And but for a lothly ladye, there 15

I sliolde have lost my land.

And nowe this fills my hearte with woe,

And sorrowe of my life ;
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight,

Sholde marry her to his wife.' 20

Then bespake him Sir Gawaine,
That w^as ever a gentle knighte :

* That lothly ladye I will wed ;

Therefore be merrye and lighte.'

' Nowe naye, nowe na3^e, good sir Gawaine ; 25

My sister's sonne yee bee;
Tliis lotlilye ladye 's all too grimme,

And all too foule for yee.

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 1 7

Her nose is crookt and turn'd outwiirde ;

Pier cliin stcinds all awryc ; so

A worse form'd ladye tlian sliee is

Was never seen with eye/

* Wliat tliougli licr cliin stand all awrye,

And shee be foule to see?
I '11 marry her, unkle, for thy sake, 35

And I '11 thy ransome bee/

* Nowe thankes, now thankes, good sir Gawaine ;

And a blessing thee betyde !
To-morrow wee 11 have knights and squires.
And wee '11 goe fetch thy bride. 4o

And wee '11 have hawkes and wee '11 have houndes.

To cover our intent ;
And wee '11 away to the greene forest.

As wee a hunting went/

Sir Lancelot, sir Stephen bolde, 45

They rode with them that daye ;
And forcmoste of the company e

There rode the stewarde Kaye :

Soe did sir Banier and sir Bore,

And eke sir Garratte keene; 50

Sir Tiistram too, that gentle loiight.

To the forest frcshe and greene.

And when they came to the greene forrest,

Bencathe a faire holley tree
Tliere sate that ladye in red scarl^tte 56

That unsccmelye was to sec.
voT,. rri. B

18 llELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Sii' Kay beheld that lady's face,
And looked upon her swecre ;

* Wlioever lasses that ladye,' he saycs,

* Of his kisse he stands in feare/ 60

Sir Kay beheld that ladye againe,
And looked upon her snout ;

* Whoever kisses that ladye,' he sayes,

Of his Idsse he stands in doubt/

* Peace, brother Kay,' sayde sir Gawaine, 65

* And amend thee of thy life :
For there is a knight amongst us all,

Must marry her to his wife.'

* What! marry this foule queane,' quoth Kay,

r the devil's name anone ; 7o

Gett mee a wife wherever I maye.
In sooth shoe shall be none.'

Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste,
And some took up their houndes ;

And sayd they wolde not marry her, 75

For cities, nor for townes.

Then bespake him long Arthiire,
And sware there by this daye ;

* For a little foule sighte and mislikinge,

Yee shall not say her naye/ so

* Peace, lordlings, peace;' sir Gawaine sayd;

* Nor make debate and strife ;
This lothlye ladye I will take.

And marry her to my wife.'

THE MATIRTAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 10

* No we thankcs, nowe tliaiikcs, good sir Gawainc,

And a blcssinge be thy mcedel 8G

For as I am thine own ladye,
Thou never shalt rue this deede.'

Then up they took that lothly dame,

And home anone they bringe : 90

And there sir Gawaine he her wed,
And married her vdih a ringe.

And when they were in wed-bed laid.
And all were done awaye :

* Come turne to mee, mine o^YTie wed-lord 95

Come turne to mee I praye/

Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,

For sorrowe and for care ;
When, lo! instead of that lothelye dame,

Hee sawe a young ladye faire. 100

Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red checke.

Her eyen were blacke as sloe :
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe.

And all her necke was snowe.

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady faire, 105

Lying upon the sheete :
And swore, as he was a true knighte.

The spice was never soe sweete.

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte.

Lying there by his side : 110

* The fairest flower is not soe faire :

Thou never can'st bee my bride.'

20 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

* I am thy bride, mine owne dcare lorJe,

The same whiclie thou didst knowe,
That was see lothlye, and was wont 115

Upon tlie wild more to goe.

No we, gentle Gawaine, cliuse,' quoth shoe,
* And make thy choice with care ;

Wliether by night, or else by daye.

Shall I be foule or faired 120

* To have thee foule still in the night.

When I with thee should playe !
I had rather farre, my lady deare.
To have thee foule by daye/

'What ! when gaye ladyes goe with theii' lordes 125

To drinke the ale and wme ;
Alas! then I must hide myself,

I must not goe with mine!'

* My faire ladye, sir Gawaine sayd,

I yield me to thy skille; 130

Because thou art mine owne ladye
Thou shalt have all thy wille/

* Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine,

And the daye that I thee see ;
For as thou seest mee at this time, 135

Soe shall I ever bee.

My father was an aged knighte,

And yet it chanced soe,
He tooke to wife a false ladye,

Whiche broughte me to this woe. ho

KING RYENCE's CILiLLENGE. 21

Shee witcli'd mce, being a faire yonge iiiaido,

In the greene forest to clwellc ;
And there to abide hi lothlye shape,

Most Hke a fiend of helle.

Midst mores and mosses, woods, and wilds, 145

To lead a lonesome life :
Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte

Wolde marrye me to his wife :

Nor fully to gaine mhie owne trewe shape.
Such was her devilish skille; I60

Until he wolde yielde to be rul'd by mee.
And let mee have all my wille.

She witchd my brother to a carlish boore,

And made liim stiffe and stronge ;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde, i65

To hve by rapine and wronge.

But now the spelle is broken throughe.

And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladye.

And hee be a gentle knighte/ 160

HI.

KING EYENCE'S CHALLENGE.

This song is more modem than many of those which follow it, but is placed
here for the sake of the subject. It was suiig before queen Elizabeth at the
grand entertainment at Kenilworth-castle in 1575, and was probably com-
posed for that occasion. In a letter describing those festivities, it is thus
mont'oned : 'A Minstral came torih with a Jiolkin song, warranted for story
out of K. Arthur's acLs, wiiortof I gat a (lopy, and i.s this;
"So It fell out f)H u rciitfcM-^f - . •• i

22 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Alter the song the narrative proceeds : ' At this the Minstrell made a pause
and a curtezy for Primua PassiLs. More of tliu song is thear, but I gatt
it not.'

The story in ' Morte Arthur,' whence it is taken, runs as follows : ' Came a
messen«^er hastely from king Ryence of North-AVales, — saying, that king
Ryence had discomfited and overcomen eleaven kings, and everiche of them
did him homage, and that was this : they gave him their beards cleane flayne
oft". — wherefore the messenger came for king Arthur's beard, for king Ryence
had purfeled a mantel! with kings beards, and there lacked for one a place of
the mantell, wherefore he sent for his beard, or else he would enter into his
lands, and brenn and slay, and never leave till he have thy head and thy
beard. Well, said king Arthur, thou hast said thy message, which is the
most villainous and lewdest message that ever man heard sent to a king.
Also thou mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a purfell of,
but tell thou the king that — or it be long he shall do to me homage on both
Ids knees, or else he shall leese his head.' [B. I. 24. See also the same
Romance, B. I. c. 92.]

The thought seems to be originally taken from Jeff. Monmouth's Hist. B. X.
c. 3. which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb. Song 4. and by Spenser
in Faer. Qu. 6. 1. 13. 15. See the Observations on Spenser, vol. II. p. 223.

The following text is composed of the best readings selected from three
different copies. The first in Enderbie's Cambria Triumphans, p. 197. The
second in the Letter abovementioned. And the third inserted in MS. in a copy
of Morte Arthur, 1632, in the Bodl. Library.

Stow tells us, that king Arthur kept his round table at ' diverse places, but
especially at Carlion, Winchester, and Camalet in Somersetshire.' This
Camalet, ' sometimes a famous towne or castle, is situate on a very high tor
or hill, &c.' [See an exact description iu Stowe's Annals, Ed. 1G31, p. 55.]

As it fell out on a Pentecost day.

King Arthur at Camelot kept liis court royall.
With his f aire queene dame Guenever the gay ;

And many bold barons sitting in hall ;

With ladies attired in purple and pall ; 5

And heraults in hewkes, hooting on high,
Cryed, Largesse, Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.

A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas

Right pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee;
With Steven fulle stoute amids all the preas, 10

' ' Largesse, Largesse,' The heralds lesounded these words as oft as they
received of the bounty of the knights. See ' Memoires de la Chevalerie.'' toni.
I p. 1)9.— The ejtpression is still used iu the form of installing knights of the
garter.

KING ryence's challenge. 23

Sayd, * Nowe sii' king Arthur, God save thee, and
see!

Sir Ryence of North-gales greeteth well thee,
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send,
Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend.

For his robe of state is a rich scarlet mantle, 15

With eleven kings beards bordered ^ about.

And there is room lefte yet in a kantle,

For thine to stande, to make the twelfth out ;
This must be done, be thou never so stout ;

This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 20

Maugre the teethe of all thy round table.'

^Vhen this mortal message from his mouthe past,

Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower :
The king fum'd; the queene screecht; ladies were
aghast ; 24

Princes puifd ; barons blustred ; lords began lower ;
Knights stormed; squires startled, like steeds in
a stower;
Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall,
Then in came sir Kay, the [Idng's] seneschal.

* Silence, my soveraignes,' quoth this courteous knight,
And in that stound the stowre began still : 30

[Then] the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight :
Of wine and wassel he had his wille :
And, when he had eaten and drunken his fill.

An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold

Were given this dwarf for his message bold. 85

' But say to sir Ryence, thou dwarf,' quoth the king,
* Tliat for his bold message I do him defye ;

* i.e. set rouud ll>c border, aa fura are now round the gowuti of Magistrates.

24 HELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And sliortlyo with basins and pans will liim ring

Out of North-gales ; where he and I

With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, 40
Whether he, or king Arthur will prove the best

barber;'
And therewith he shook his good sword Excal^bor.

-Jr -<f '/<: -vr v: ^'f

t jt Strada, in his Prolusions, has ridiculed the story of the Giant's Mantle,
made of the Beards of iiinos.

IV.
KING AETHUKS DEATH.

A FRAGMENT.

The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old romance ' Morte
Arthur,' but with some variations, especially in the concluding stanzas ; in
vviiich the author seems rather to follow the traditions of the old Welsh Bards,
who ' believed that king Aithur was not dead, but conveied awaie by the
Fairies into some pleasant place, where he should remaine for a time, and
then returne againe and reign in as great authority as ever.' Holingshed. B.
5. c. 14r. or as it is expressed in an old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493, by

Ger. de Leew, 'The Bretons supposen, that he [K. Arthur] shall come

yet and couquere all Bretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn:
He sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous ; and sayd soth, for men thereof

yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more, for men wyt not whether that

he lyveth or is dede.' See more ancient testimonies in Selden's Notes on
Polyolbion, Song III.

This fragment being very incorrect and imperfect in the original MS. hath
received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of three or
four stanzas composed from the romance of ' Morte Arthur.' *
•3<r ^Sr ^ ^5- ^

On Trinitje Mondaye in the mome.
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee;

Where manye a knighte cry'd, ' Well-awaye!'
Alacke, it was the more pittie.

* There is a tradition in Sicily, that Arthur is preserved alive by his fairy
sister, La Fata Morgana, whose palace is said to be seen in the sea of Messina,
opposite Reggio. — Ed.

KING Arthur's death. 25

Ere the first crowinge of tlie cocko, 6

Wlien as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoui>-hte su' Gawaiiie to him camc,^

And there to him these wordes did sayo.

*Nowe, as you are mme iinkle deare,

And as you prize your life, this daye ' lo

0 meet not with your foe in fighte ;

Putt off the battayle, if 3^00 maye.

For sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce,
And wdth him many an hardye knighte :

Who will within this moneth be backe, 15

And will assiste yee in the fighte/

The kinge then call ^d his nobles all,

Before the breakinge of the daye;
And tolde them how sir Gawaine came,

And there to him these wordes did saye. 20

His nobles all this counsayle gave.

That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an hcrauld at armes.

To aske a parley faire and free.

Then twelve good knightes king Arthure chose, 25
The best of all that with him w^ere :

To parley with the foe in field,

And make with him agreement faire.

The king he charged all his hoste.

In rcadinesse there for to bee : so

> Sir n.-ivvaine lia(] bcci) killed at Ailiiur'b lauding on his return from al)road.
Sec tiie next Ballad, vcr. To.

26 ItELlQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

But HOC man slioldc noe weapon sturro,
Unlesse a sword drawnc tlioy sliold see.

iVnd Mordred on the other parte,

Twelve of his knights did likewise bringo ;

The beste of all his companye, 35

To hold the parley with the kinge.

Sir Mordred also charged his hoste,

In readinesse there for to bee ;
But noe man sholde no weapon sturre,

But if a sworde di'awne they sliold see. 40

For he durste not his unkle truste,

Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell :
Alacke ! it was a woefuUe case,

As ere in Christentye befelle.

But when they were together mette, 45

And both to faire accordance broughte ;

And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte ;

An addere crept forth of a bushe,

Stunge one 0' th' king's knightes on the knee : 50 f
Alacke ! it was a woef ulle chance,

As ever was in Christentie. f

When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wdld-worme hanginge there;

His sw^orde he from his scabberde drewe : 55

A piteous case as ye shall heare.

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde,
They joy ned battayle instantlye;

KING Arthur's death. 27

Till of soe manye noble kniglitcs,

On one side there were left but three. go

For all were slain that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye :

Ay mee! it was a bloodye iielde,

As ere was foughte on summer's daye.

Upon king Arthur s own partye, 65

Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn duke of Gloster free.

And the king's butler Bedevere.

And when the king beheld his knightes,

All dead and scattered on the molde ; 70

The teares fast trickled downe his face ;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.

' No we reste yee all, brave knights,' he said,
* Soe true and faithful to your trust ;

And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 75

Be lefte to moulder into dust!

Most loyal have yee been to mee,

Most true and faithful unto deathe :
And, oh! to rayse yee up againc.

How freelye could I yield my breathe! 80

But see the traitor's yet alive,

Lo, where hee stalkcs among the dcade!
Nowc bitterlye he shall abye :

And vengeance fall upon his head/

*0 staye, my liege,' then sayd the duke; 85

*0 stay for love and cliaritlc;

28 llELIQUES OF ANCIKNT rOETIlY.

Homcmhcr what the vision spake,
Nor mcete youi* foe, if it may bee.'

* 0, staye mee not, tliou woi-thye wight,

This debt my loyal knights I owe : 90

Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe/

Then straite he grasp'd his tnistye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hec :

As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95

His bowels gushed to his knee.

* Alas!' then sayd the noble king,

* That I should live this sight to see !
To see this good knight here be slaine,

All for his love in helping mee!' loo

He put his speare mto his reste,
And to sir Mordred loud gan crye ;

* No we sette thyself upon thy guarde,

For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye/

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, io5

And fierce to meet the king ran hee :

The king his speare he through him thrust ;
A fathom thorow his bodie.

When Mordered felt the stroke of death,

And found that he was wounded soe; no

He thruste himseKe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.

Then gTimmlye dyed sk Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree :

KING Arthur's death. 29

And bloody strcamcs ranno from the kinge ii5
Ere to the duke returned hee.

Sir Luk}Ti then he thus bespake,

*Sir knighte, thou hast beene faithfulle
tryde,
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,^

That hangs so freelye by my syde: 120

0 take my sword Excalibar,

And there into the river throwe :
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,

All use of weapons I foregoe.

And fare thee well, thou trustye sword, 125

A better neer had valiant knighte.
With thee full ofte, and manye a daye.

Have T withstood my foe in fighte.

\Yith this good fauchion in my hande,

Oft have I reapd the bloodye feelde : 130

But nowe the fatalle houre is come.

That never more I may thee weelde/

The duke to the river side he went.

And there his owne sword in threwe he :

But he kept back Excalibar, 135

He kept it back in privitie.

For all of coleyne was the blade ;

And all the hilte of precious stone :
* And ever alacke!' then sayd the kniglite,

*Must such a sword awayo be throwneV 140

* More commonly called, Caliburn. lu the folio MS. Escalbcrd.

30 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Then backo lie came unto the kinj^^c,

Who sayd, *Sir Luk^'ii, wliat did yee see'?'

* Nothing, my liege, save that the winde

Blewe oer the waters faire and free/

* 0 goe againe,' then said the kinge, 145

* 0 good sir Lukyn, goe againc :
Into the rivere throwe my sword.

Nor keepe me lingering here in paine.'*

The duke then to the river went,

And the kings scabberd in threwe liee; iso

But hee kept backe Excalibar,

And hid it undernethe a tree.

Then backe he came to tell the kinge.
Who sayde, *Sir Lukyn sawe ye oughte?'

*Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 155

Nowe with the angrye waters fought.'

'0 Lukyn, Luk}Ti,' said the kinge,

* Twice haste thou dealt deceytfuUye :
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste.

When suche a knighte soe false can bee? igo

Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead.
All for a sword, that wins thine eye ?

Nowe goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the one of us shall dye.'

The duke, all shent with this rebuke, i65

No aunswere made unto the kinge;
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,

And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.

KING Arthur's death. 31

A hando and an arme did mcctc tlic swordc,

And fiourislid tliree times in tlio air; 170

Tlien simkc bencthc the renninge streme,
And of tlic duke was seeno noe mair.

All sore astonied stood the duke ;

He stood as still, as still mote bee :
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge ; 175

But he was gone from under the tree.

But to what place he cold not tell,

For never after hee did him spye :
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land.

And hee heard ladyes howle and crje.^ iso

And whether the kinge were there, or not,

Hee never knewe, nor ever colde :
For from that sad and direfulle daye,

Hee never more was scene on molde.

Vcr. 178. sec MS.

1 Not unlike tliat passage in Virgil.

Summoque ulularunt vertice nymphse,

'Ladies' was tlie word our old English writers used for 'Nymphs:' As
iu the following lines of an old song in the Editor's folio MS.

* When scorching Phoebus he did mount,
Then Lady Venus went to hunt :
To whom Diana did resort,
With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys,
Of springs, and floodes,' &c.

32 RELIQUKS OF ANCIENT POETKY.

V.
THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR

We have here a short summary of K. Arthur's history as given by Jeff, of
Monmouth and the old chronicles, with the addition of a few circumstances

from the romance ' Morte Artlmr.' The ancient chronicle of Ger. de Leew

((juoted above in p. 24,), seems to liave been chiefly followed: upon the
authority of which we have restored some of the names which were corrupted
in the MS. and have transposed one stanza, wliich appeared to be misplaced,
[viz. that beginnin}^ at v. 49. which in the MS. followed v. 36.]
Printed from the Editor's ancient folio IManuscript.

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,

King Arthur I am to name ;
Through Christendome, and Heathynesse,

Well loiowne is my worthy fame.

In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve ; 6

I am a christyan bore :
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost,

One God, I doe adore.

In the four hundred ninetieth yeere,

Over Brittaine I did rayne, lo

After my savior Christ his byrth :
What time I did maintaine

The fellowshipp of the table round,

Soe famous in those dayes ;
Whereatt a hundred noble knights, 15

And thirty sat alwayes :

Who for theu^ deeds and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,

Ver. 1. Bruite his, MS. — Ver. 9. He began his reign A.D. 515, according to
the Clu-onicles.

THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 33

Amongst all other nations

Wer feared throwgh tlie world. 20

And in the castle of Tyntagill

King Uther mee begate
Of Agyana a be^vtyous ladye,

And come of [hie] estate.

And when I was fifteen yeere old, 25

Then was I crowned kinge :
All Brittaine that was att an uprbre,

I did to quiett brmge.

And drove the Saxons from the realme,

Who had opprest this land; 30

All Scotland then throughe manly feats
I conquered with my hand.

Ireland, Denmarke, Norway,

These coimtryes wan I all;
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swethland; 35

And made their kings my thrall.

I conquered all Gallya,

That now is called France ;
And slew the hardy Froll in feild

My honor to advance. 40

And the ugly gyant Dynabus

So temble to vewe,
That in Saint Bamards mount did lye,

By force of armes I slew :

Vcr. 23, Slic is named Igema in tlie old Chronicles. — Vcr. 24, his, MS. —
Ver. 39, JVoland field, MS. Froll according to tlio Chronicles was a Roman
anight, governor of Gaul. — Vcr. 41, Danibus, MS.

VOL. III. 0

34 UELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And Lucy US the cmperour of Homo 45

I brought to deadly wracke ;
And a thousand more of noble knightcs

For f care did turne their backe :

Five Idnges of [paynims] I did kill

Amidst that bloody strife ; eo

Besides the Grecian cmperour
Who alsoe lost his liffe.

Wliose carcasse I did send to Rome

Cladd poorlye on a beere ;
And afterward I past Mount-Joye 55

The next approaching yeere.

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett

Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solemp)nelye

I was crowned an emperour. eo

One winter there I made abode :

Then word to mee was brought
How Mordred had oppressd the crowne :

What treason he had wroudit

'0-'

Att home in Brittaine with my queene ; 65

Therfore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power.

To quitt that traitorous deede :

And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde.

Where Mordred me withstoode : 70

But yett at last I landed there,

With effusion of much blood.

Ver. 49, of Pavye, MS.

THE LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR. 35

For tlicro my nephew sir Gawaine dyed,

Being wounded in that sore,
The whiche sir Lancelot in fight 76

Had given him before.

Thence chased I Mordcred away,

Wlio fledd to London right,
From London to Winchester, and

To Cornewalle tooke his flyght. so

And still I him pursued mth speed

Till at the last wee mett :
Wherby an appointed day of fight

Was there agreed and sett.

Where we did fight, of mortal life 85

Echo other to deprive.
Till of a hundred thousand men

Scarce one was left a live.

There all the noble chivalrye

Of Brittaine tooke their end. 90

0 see how fickle is their state

That doe on feates depend!

There all the traitorous men were slaine

Not one escapte away;
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes. 95

Alas! that woefull day!

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne

In honor and gi'eat fame ;
And thus by death was suddenlye

Deprived of the same. 100

Ver. 92, perhaps ya/e5.

3G KEUyiES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

VI.

A DYTTIE TO HEY DOWNE.

Copied from an old MS. in the Cotton Library, f Vesp. A. 25,] intitled,
' Divers things of Hen. viij's time.'

Who sekes to tame the blustering wincle,
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll.

Or els against dame natm^e's kinde

To [change] things frame by cunning skyll :

That man I thinke bestoweth paine, 6

Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.

Who strives to breake the sturdye Steele,
Or goeth about to staye the sunne ;

Wlio thinks to causse an oke to reele,

Which never can by. force be done : lo

That man likewise bestoweth paine,

Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine.

Who thinks to stryve against the streame.
And for to sayle without a maste ;

Unlesse he thinl^s perhapps to faine, is

His travell ys f orelorne and waste ;

And so in cure of all his paine.

His travell ys his cheffest gaine.

So he lykewise, that goes about

To please echo eye and every eare, 20

Had nede to have withouten doubt

A golden gyft with hym to beare ;
For evyll report shall be his gaine.
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine.

Ver. 4, cause, MS.

GLASGERION. 3 7

God grant eclie man one to amend ; 25

God send us all a happy place ;
And let us pray unto the end.

That we may have our princes grace :
Amen, amen! so shall we gaine
A dewe reward for all our paine. 30

VII.
GLASGERION.

An ingenious friend thinks that the following old ditty (which is printed
from the Editor's folio MS.) may possibly have given birth to the tragedy of
' the Orphan,' by Otway, in which Polidore intercepts Monimia's intended
favours to Castalio.

See what is said concerning the hero of this song, (who is celebrated by
Chaucer under the name of Glaskyrion,) in the Essay prefixed to Vol. I. Note
II. Pt. IV. (2).

Glasgerion was a Idngs owne sonne.

And a harper he was goode :
He harped in the kinges chambere,

Where cuppe and caudle stoode.

And soe did hee in the queens chamber, 5

Till ladies waxed [glad.]
And then bespake the Idnges daughter ;

And these wordes thus shoe sayd.

* Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,

Of thy strildng doe not blinne : 10

Theres never a stroke comes oer thy harpe.
But it glads my hart withinne/

* Faire might he fall, ladye,' quoth hee,

* Who taught you nowe to spcake !

Ver. 6, wood, MS.

38 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

I liave loved you, laclyc, seven longe ycere is
My minde I neerc durst breake.'

* But come to my bower, my Glasgeribn,

When all men are att rest :
As I am a lady true of my promise.

Thou shalt bee a welcome guest/ 20

Home then came Glasgfcrion,

A glad man, lord! was hee.
And, * come thou hither, Jacke my boy ;

Come hither unto mee.

For the Idnges daughter of Normandyc 26

Hath granted mee my boone :
And att her chambere must I bee

Befltbre the cocke have crowen/

* 0 master, master,' then quoth hee,

* Lay your head downe on this stone : 30

For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone/

But up then rose that lither ladd,

And hose and shoone did on :
A coller he cast upon his necke, 35

Hee seemed a gentleman.

And when he came to the ladies chamber.

He thrild upon a j^inn.^
The lady was true of her promise.

Rose up and lett him in. 40

Ver. 16, harte, MS.

^ This is elsewhere expressed, ' twirled tlie pin,' or ' tirled at the pin,' [See
B. II. S. VI. V. 3,] and seems to refer to the turning round the button on the
outside of a door, by which the latch rises, still used in cottages.

GLASGEllION. 39

He (lid not take the lady gayo

To boiilster nor to bed :
[Nor thouglie liee had his wicked willo,

A single word he sed.]

He did not kisse that ladyes mouthe, 45

Nor when he came, nor yoiid :
And sore mistrusted that ladye gay,

He was of some chm'ls bloud.

But home then came that lither ladd.

And did off his hose and shoone ; 50

And caste the coller from off his necke :
He was but a churles sonne.

* Awake, awake, my deere master,

The cock hath well-nigh crowen,
Awake, awake, my master deere, 55

I hold it time to be gone.

For I have saddled your horsse, master.

Well bridled I have your steede :
And I have served you a good breakfast :

For thereof ye have need/ 60

Up then rose good Glasgeri5n,

And did on hose and shoone ;
And cast a coller about his necke:

For he was a kinge his sonne.

And when he came to the ladyes chamber, 65

He thrild upon the pinne;
The ladye was more than tnie of promise.

And rose and let him inn.

40 IIELIQUES OF AJMCIENT POETRY.

Sales, * whether have you left with me

Your bracelett or your glove'? 7o

• Or are you returned backe againe
To know more of my level'

Glasg^rion swore a full gTeat othe.
By oake, and ashe, and thorne ;

* Lady, I was never in your chamber, 75

Sitli the time that I was borne/

* 0 then it was your lither foot-page.

He hath beguiled mee/
Then shoe pulled forth a litle pen-lmiffe,

That hanged by her knee : 8o

Sayes, * there shall never noe chuiles blood

Within my bodye spring :
No churles blood shall ever defile

The daughter of a kinge/

Home then went Glasgerion, 85

And woe, good lord, was hee.
Sayes, * come thou hither, Jacke my boy,

Come hither unto mee.

If I had killed a man to night,

Jacke, I would tell it thee : oo

But if I have not killed a man to night

Jacke, thou hast killed three/

And he puld out his bright browne sword.

And dryed it on liis sleeve.
And he smote off that lither ladds head, 95

Who did his ladye grieve.

Ver. 77, litle, MS.

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 41

He sett the swords poynt till his brcst,

The pummil untill a stone :
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd,

These three lives werne all gone. loo

VIII.
OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.

From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS. which was judged to require
considerable corrections.

In the former edition the hero of this piece had been called Sir Robin, but
that title not being in the MS. is now omitted.

Let never again soe old a man

Marrye soe yonge a wife.
As did old Robin of Portingale ;

Who may rue all the dayes of his life.

For the mayors daughter of Lin, god wott, 5

He chose her to his wife.
And thought with her to have lived in love,

But they fell to hate and strife.

They scarce were in their wed-bed laid.

And scarce was hee asleepe, lo

But upp shoe rose, and forth shoe goes.
To the steward, and gan to weepe.

* Slecpe you, wake you, faire sir Gyles ?

Or be you not within?
Sleepe you, wake you, fairo sir Gyles, 15

Arise and let me inn.'

* 0, I am waiving, swcete,' he said,

*Swccte ladyc, what is your willV

42 llELIQUES OF ANCIENT POKTllY.

* I have unbetlioii'^ht mo of a wile

How my wcd-lord weell spill. 20

Twenty-four good knights/ shee sayes,

* That dwell about tliis towne,
Even twenty-four of my next cozens.

Will helpe to dinge him downe/

All that beheard his httle footepage, 25

As he watered his masters steed;
And for his masters sad perille

His verry heart did bleed.

He mourned still, and wept full sore ;

I sweare by the holy roode so

The teares he for his master w^ept

Were blent water and bloude.

And that beheard his deare master

As he stood at his garden pale :
Sayes, ' Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 35

What causes thee to wail?

Hath any one done to thee wronge

Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,

That thou shedst manye a teare? 40

Or, if it be my head bookes-man.

Aggrieved hee shal bee :
For no man here within my howse.

Shall doe wrong unto thee.'

Ver. 19, unbethought, [properly onbetlionglit] this word is still used in the
Midland counties in the same sense as bethought. — Ver. 32, blend, MS.

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 43

* 0, it is not your head bookcs-man, 45

Nor none of liis degi'cc :
But, on to-morrow ere it be noone
All deemed to die are yee.

And of that bethank your head steward,

And thank your gay ladie/ 50

' If this be true, my litle foot-page.
The heyre of my land thoust bee/

' If it be not true, my dear master.
No good death let me die/

* If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, 55

A dead corse shalt thou lie.

0 call now downe my faire ladye,

0 call her downe to mec :
And tell my ladye gay how sicke, eo

And like to die I bee/

Downe then came his ladye faire,

AU clad in purple and pall :
The rings that were on her fingers,

Cast lifrht thorrow the hall.

^&'

*What is your "vvill, my owne wed-lord'? 65

Wliat is your will with mee'?'
'0 see, my ladye deere, how sicke,

And like to die I bee.'

'And thou bo sicke, my own wed-lord,

Soe sore it grieveth me : 70

But my five maydens and myselfc
Will [watch thy] bcdde for thee :

Vcr. 47, or to-morrow, MS.— Vcr. uG, bee, MS.— Vcr. 72, ni;ike tlio, MS.

44 IlELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And at the waking of your first slccpo,

We will a liott drinkc make :
And at the waking of your [next] sleepe, 75

Your sorrowes we will slake/

He put a silk cote on his backe,

And mail of manye a fold :
And hee putt a Steele cap on his head,

Was gilt with good red gold. 80

He layd a bright browne sword by his side,

And another att his feete :
[And twentye good knights he placed at hand,

To watch him in his sleepe.]

And about the middle time of the night, 85

Came twentye-f our traitours inn :
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,

The leader of that ginn.

Old Robin with his bright browne sword,

Sir Gyles head soon did winn : 90

And scant of all those twenty-four,
Went out one quick agenn.

None save only a Htle foot page,

Crept forth at a window of stone :
And he had two armes when he came m, 95

And he went back with one.

Upp then came that ladie gaye

With torches burning bright :
She thought to have brought sir Gyles a drinke.

Butt she found her owne wedd knight. 100

Ver. 75, first, MS.

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE. 45

The first tliingc that she stumbled on

It was sk Gyles his f oote :
Sayes, *Ever alacke, and woe is mee!

Here lyes my sweete hart-roote/

The next thinge that she stumbled on 105

It was sir Gyles his heade :
Sayes, * Ever, alacke, and woe is me !

Heere lyes my true love deade/

Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest,

And did her body spille ; no

He cutt the eares beside her heade,

And bade her love her fille.

He called then up his litle foot-page,

And made him there his heyre ;
And sayd * henceforth my worldlye goodes 115

And countrye I forsweare/

He shope the crosse on his right shoulder.
Of the white [clothe] and the redde,^

And went him into the holy land,

Wheras Christ was quicke and dead. 120

Ver. 118, fleshe, MS.

^ Every person, who went on a Croisade to the Holy Land, usually wore a
cross on his upper garment, on the right shoulder, as a badge of his profession.
Different nations were distinguished by crosses of different colours: The Eng-
lish wore white; the French red; &c. This circumstance seems to be con-
founded in the ballad. [V. Spelman. Gloss.]

1^" In the foregoing piece, Giles, steward to a rich old merchant trading
to Portugal, is qualified with the title of ' Sir,' not as being a knight, but
rather, I conceive, as having received an inferior order of priesthood.

46 UELIQUES OF AN'CIEN'T I'OETKY

IX.
CHILD WATERS.

' Child ' is frequently used by our old writers, as a title. It is repeatedly given
to Prince Arthur in the Fairie Queen : and the son of a king is in the same
poem called 'Child Tristram.' [B. 5. c. 11. st. 8. 13.— B. G. c. 2. st. 3G.—
Ibid. c. 8. St. 15.] In an old ballad quoted in Shakespeare's K. Lear, the
hero of Ariosto is called Child Roland. Mr. Theobald supposes this use of the
word was received along with their romances from the Spaniards, with whom
Infante signifies a Prince. A more eminent critic tells us, that ' in the old
times of chivalry, the noble youth, who were candidates for knighthood,
during the time of their probation were called Infans^ Varlets, Damoysels^
Baclieliers. The most noble of the youth were particularly called Infans.^
\_Vid. Warb. Shakesp.] A late commentator on Spenser observes, that the
Saxon word cnihz knight, signifies also a ' Child.' [See Upton's gloss to the
F. Q.]

The Editor's folio MS. whence the following piece is taken (with some cor-
rections), affords several other ballads, wherein the word ' Child ' occurs as a
title: but in none of these it signifies 'Prince.' See the song iutitled Gil
Morrice, in this volume.

It ought to be observed, that the word Child or Chield is still used in North
Britain to denominate a man, commonly with some contemptuous character
affixed to him, but sometimes to denote man in general. [We need scarcely
allude to ' Childe Harold.'— Ed.]

Child Waters in his stable stoode,
And stroakt his milke white steede :

To him a fayre yonge ladye came
As ever ware womans weede.

Sayes, * Christ you save, good Childe Waters;' 5

Sayes, * Christ you save, and see :
My girdle of gold that was too longe,

Is now too short for mee.

And all is with one chyld of yours,

I feele sturre att my side : lo

My gowne of greene it is too straighte ;

Before, it was too wide/

CHILD WATERS. 47

* If the child be mine, faire Ellen,' he sayd,

' Be mine as you tell mce ;
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, i5
Take them your ovme to bee.

If the childe be mine, faire Ellen,' he sayd,

* Be mine, as you doe sweare :
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,

And make that child your heyre.' 20

Shee sales, * I had rather have one kisse,

Child Waters, of thy mouth ;
Than I wolde have Cheshii'e and Lancashire both,

That lye by north and south.

And I had rather have one twinkling, 25

Childe Waters, of thine ee :
Then I wolde have Chesliire and Lancashire both.

To take them mine owne to bee.''

' To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde

Farr into the north countrie ; 30

The fau'est lady that I can find,

Ellen, must goe with mee.'

' [Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre,

Yet let me go with thee] :
And ever I pray you, Child Waters, 35

Your foot-page let me bee.'

* If you will my foot-page bee, Ellfen,

As you doe tell to mee ;
Then you must cut your gowne of greene,

An inch above your knee : 40

Ver. 13, be inne, MS.

48 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

See must you doe your ycllowc lockcs,

An incli above your ee :
You must tell no man what is my name ;

My foot-page then you shall bee/

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode, 45

Ran baref oote by his side ;
Yett was he never soe courteous a knighte,

To say, * Ellen, will you rydel'

Shee, all the long day Child Waters rode,

Ran baref oote thorow the broome ; 60

Yett hee was never soe curteous a knighte.
To say, * put on your shoone/

*Ride softlye', shee sayd, *0 Childe Waters,

Why doe you ryde soe fast 1
The childe, which is no mans but thine, 66

My bodye itt w^ill brast/

He sayth, * seest thou yonder water, Ellen,
That flows from banke to brimme'?' —

* I trust to God, 0 Child Waters,

You never will see^ mee swimme/ 60

But when shee came to the waters side.

She sayled to the chinne :
' Except the Lord of heaven be my speed.

Now must I learne to swimme/

The salt waters bare up her clothes ; 65

Our Ladye bare upp her chinne :
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord,

To see faire Ellen swimme.

^ i.e., permit, suffer, &c.

CHILD WATERS. 49

And when slice over the water was,

Slice tlicn came to liis knee : 70

He said, ' Come hitlier, thou faire Ellen,

Loe, yonder what I see.

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen \

Of redd gold shines the yate :
Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, 75

The faii'cst is my mate.

Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ?

Of redd gold shines the towre :
There are twenty four faire ladyes there,

The fairest is my paramoure.' so

* 1 see the hall now. Child Waters,

Of redd gold shines the yate :
God give you good now of yourselfe,

And of your worthye mate.

I see the hall now% Child Waters, 85

Of redd golde shines the towre :
God give you good now of yourselfe.

And of your paramoure.'

There twenty four fayre ladyes were

A playing att the ball : 90

And Ellen, the fairest ladye there,

Must brincfe his steed to the stall.

'to'

There twenty four fayi^e ladyes were

A playinge at the chesse ;
And Ellen, the fayrcst ladye there, 95

Must bring his horse to gresse.

Ver. 84, worldlye, MS.
VOL. in. D

50 KKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And then bespake CliilJc Waters sister,

These were the wordes said sliee :
*Yoii have the pretty est foot-page, brotlicr,

That ever I saw with mine ee. loo

But that his belly e it is soe bigg,

His girdle goes wonderous hie :
And let him, I pray you, Childe Waters,

Goe into the chamber with mee/

*It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105

That has run throughe mosse and myre.

To go into the chamber with any ladye,
That weares soe riche attyre.

It is more meete for a litle foot-page,

That has run throughe mosse and myre, 110

To take his supper upon his knee.

And sitt downe by the kitchen fyer/

But when they had supped every one.

To bedd they tooke theyr waye :
He sayd, 'come hither, my little foot-page, ]i5

And hearken what I saye.

Go thee downe into yonder towne,

And low into the street;
The fayrest ladye that thou can finde,

Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, 120

And take her up in thine armes twauie.

For filinge ^ of her feete/

Ellen is gone into the towne,
And low into the streete :

• i.e. defiling. See Waiton's Obseiv. Vol. II. p. 158.

CHILD WATERS. 51

The fairest ladyo that sliec cold tiiid, 125

Shee liyred in his armes to sleepc ;
And tooke her up in her armes twayno,

For fiHng of licr feete.

*I praye you nowe, good Childe Waters,

Let mee lye at your bedds feete : ] 30

For there is noe place about this house,
Where I may 'saye a sleepe/ ^

[He gave her leave, and faire EU^n

Down at his beds feet laye :]
This done the nighte drove on apace, 135

And when it was neare the daye,

Hee sayd, *Eise up, my litle foot-page,

Give my steede corne and haye ;
And soe doe thou the good black oats,

To carry mee better awaye.' 140

Up then rose the faire Ellen

And gave his steede corne and hay :

And soe shee did the good blacke oates,
To carry him the better away.

Shee leaned her backe to the manger side, 145

And gTievouslye did groane ;
Shee leaned her back to the manger side.

And there shee made her moanc.

And that beheard his mother dccre,

Shee heard her tliere monand.^ 150

Shee sayd, *Iiise up, thou Cliildo Waters,

I til ink thee a cursed man.

1 V\r. 132, i.e. essay, attempt. — ^ .sic in MS. / f . moaning, bemoaning^, &c.

52 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETHV.

For in thy stable is a gliost,

That griovouslye doth grono :
Or else some woman labom^es of cliildo, 155

She is soe woe-begone/

Up then rose Childe Waters soon,

And did on his shirto of silke ;
And then he put on his other clothes,

On his body as white as milke. ico

And when he came to the stable dore,

I\ill still there hee did stand.
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen,

Howe shee made her monand.^

She sayd, 'Lullabye, mine owne decre child, ics

Lullabye, dere child, dere :
I wold thy father were a Idng,

Thy mother layd on a biere/

* Peace now,' hee said, *good faire Ellen,

Be of good cheere, I praye; 170

And the bridal and the chm'ching both
Shall bee upon one day/

X.
PHILLIDA AND COEYDON.

This sonnet is given from a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession,
written in the time of Q. Elizabeth. Another copy of it, containing some varia-
tions, is reprinted in the ' Muses' Library,' p. 295, from an ancient miscellany,
iiitltled 'England's Helicon,' 1600, 4to. The author was Nicholas Breton, a
writer of some fame in the reign of Elizabeth ; who also published an interlude
intitled ' An old man's lesson and a young man's love,' 4to. and many other
little pieces in prose and verse, the titles of which may be seen in Winstanley,

1 sic in MS. i.e. moaning, bemoaninj?, &c.

P111LLIJ)A AND COllYDON. 53

Ames' Typog. and Osborne's Ilarl. Catalog. &c. — lie is mentioned with <^ieat
respect by Mercs, in his 2d pt. of ' Wit's Common-wealth,' 1598, f. 283, and
is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's ' Scornful Lady,' Act 2. and attain in
' Wit without Money,' Act 3. — See Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. III. p. 103.

The present Edition is improved by a copy in ' England's Helicon,' Edit.
IGU, 8vo.

In the mori-io moneth of Mayo,
In a morne by break of daye,
With a troope of damselles playing
Forth [I yode] forsooth a majdng :

When anon by a wood side, 5

Where as Maye was in his pride,
I espied all alone
Phillida and Corydon.

Much adoe there was, god wot;

He wold love, and she wold not. lo

She sayde, 'never man was trewe/

He sayes, 'none was false to you.'

He sayde, 'hee had lovde her longe:'
She sayes, 'love should have no wronge/
Corydon wold kisse her then : is

She sayes, 'maydes must kisse no men,

Tyll they doe for good and all.'

When she made the shepperde call

All the heavens to wytnes truth e,

Never loved a truer youthe. 20

Then with manie a prettie othe,
Yea and nay, and, faith and trothe;
Such as seelie shepperdes use
When they w411 not love abuse;

^'or. 4, the woJc, MS.

54 KELIC^UE.S OF ANCIENT I'OETIlV.

Love, that liad bene long deluded, 25

Was with kisses sweete concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gaye
Was made the lady of the ]\Iaye.

t jt The foregoing little Pastoral of Phillida and Corydon is one of the Songs
in ' The llonourahle Entertainment gieven lu the Queenes Majestic in Pro-
gresse at Elvethani in Hampshire, by the K. H. the Earle of Hertford, 15'Jl,'
4to. [Printed by Wolfe. No name of author.] See in that pamphlet,

' The thirde daies Eiitertainineut.
' Oil Wednesday morning about 0 o'clock, as her lilajcstie opened a casement
of her gallerie window, ther were three excellent musicians, who being dis-
guised in auncieut country attu'c, did greet her with a pleasant song of Cory-
don and Phillida, made in three parts of purpose. The song, as well for the
worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it pleased her
Highnesse after it had been once sung to command it againe, and highly to
grace it with her cheercful acceptance and commendation.

' THE plowman's song.

In the menie month of May, kc'

The splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's reign is no Avhere more
strongly painted than in these little Diaries of some of her summer excursions
to the houses of her nobility ; nor could a more acceptable present be given lo
the world, than a republication of a select number of such details as this of tlie
entertainment at Elvetham, that at Keuilworth, &c. &c. which so strongly
mark the spirit of the times, and present us with scenes so very remote from
modern manners.

ij^ See ' The Progresses and Public Processions of Queen Elizabeth,' &c.
By John Nichols, F.A.S. Edinb. and Perth, 1788, 2 Vols. 4to.

XL
LITTLE MUSGEAYE AND LADY BARNAED.

This ballad is ancient, and has been popular ; we find it quoted in many old
plays. See Beaum. and Fletcher's ' Knight of the Burning Pestle,' 4to. 1613,
Act 5. ' The Varietie,' a comedy, l2mo. IG-tO, Act 4, &c. In Sir William
Davenant's play, ' The Witts,' A. 3, a gallant thus boasts of himself:

* Limber and sound ! besides I sing Musgrave,
And for Chevy-chace no lark comes near me.'

In the Pepys Collection, Vol. 111. p. 814, is an imitation of this old song,
in thirty-three stanzas, by a more modern pen, with many alterations, but
evidently for the worse.

This is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, with correc-
tions ; some of which are fi'ora a fragment in the Editor's folio MS. It is also
printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous poems. [Ritson says Dry den's
is the genuine version. It is found in many forms in Scotl; nd. — Ed.]

LITTLE ML'SGllAVE AND LADY BAUNAllD. 55

As it fell out on a liighe holye daye,

As many bee in the yeare,
Wlien yong men and maides together do goe

Their masses and mattms to hcare.

Little Musgrave came to the church door, 5

The priest was at the mass ;
But he had more mind of the fine women.

Then he had of our Ladyes grace.

And some of them were clad in greene,

And others were clad m pall; lo

And then came in my lord Barnardes wife.
The fairest among them all.

Shee cast an eye on little Musgrave

As bright as the summer sunne:
0 then bethought him little Musgrave, 15

'This ladyes heart I have wonne.'

Quoth she, 'I have loved thee, little Musgrave,

Fulle long and manye a daye.'
'So have I loved you, ladye fahe.

Yet word I never durst saye.' 20

*I have a bower at Bucklesford-Bury,^

Full daintilye bedight.
If thoult wend thither, my little Musgrave,

Thoust h'g in mine armes all night.'

Quoth hee, ' I thanke yee, ladye faire, 26

This kindness yee shew to mee ;
And whether it be to my weale or woe.

This night will I lig with thee.'

» Buckk'ficld-beny, fol. iMS.

56 ki:li(2Le.s ok anciknt poetry.

All this behoard a litlc foot-page,

By his ladycs coach as he ramie : 30

Quoth he, * thoughe I am my ladycs page.

Yet Ime my lord Barnardes mamie.

My lord Barnh,rd shall knowe of this,

Although I lose a limbo/
And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 35

Ho layd him downe to swimme.

* Asleep or awake, thou lord Barnard,

As thou art a man of life,
Lo! this same night at Bucklesford-Bury

Litle Musgrave 's in bed with thy wife/ 4u

* If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,

This tale thou hast told to mee.
Then all my lands in Bucklesford-Bury
I freelye will give to thee.

But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 45

This tale thou hast told to mee.
On the highest tree in Bucklesford-Bury

All hanged shalt thou bee.

Bise up, rise up, my merry men all.

And saddle me my good steede ; 50

This night must I to Bucldesf ord-bury ;

God wott, I had never more neede.'

Then some they whistled, and some they sang.

And some did loudlye saye.
Whenever lord Barnardes home it blewe, 65

*Awaye, MusgTave, away!'

LITTLE MUSGllAVE AND LADY BAllNAKI). 57

'Metliinkcs I licare tlic throstle cocke,

Mctliiiikcs I liearo the jay,
Methinkes I lieare lord Bariiards liorno ;

I would I were awaye/ go

* Lye still, lye still, thou little Musgriu'e,

And Ima'o'le me from the cold:
For it is but some shephardes boye

A whistling his sheepe to the fold.

Is not thy hawke upon the pearche, 65

Thy horse eating corne and haye ?
And thou a gay lady within thine armes :

And woiddst thou be awaye T

By this lord Barnard was come to the dore,

And lighted upon a stone : 70

And he pulled out three silver keyes.
And opened the dores echo one.

He lifted up the coverlett,

He lifted up the sheete;
*How now, how now, thou little Musgrave, 75

Dost find my gaye ladye sweete ? '

*I find her sweete, quoth little Musgrave,

The more is my griofe and paine;
Ide giadlye give three hundred poundes

That I were on yonder plaine.' 80

'Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave,

And put thy cloathes nowe on.
It shall never be said in my countree,

That I killed a naked man.

Vcr. 64, Ls wliistling sliccpe ore tlie inoUl, fol. MS.

58 UELlQl'ES OF A-NLILNT TOi'/rRV.

1 have two svvordes in one scabbiiRlo, 85

Full deare they cost my purse ;
And thou shalt have the best of them,

And I will have the worse/

The first stroke that little Musgrave strucke,
He hurt lord Barnard sore ; 9o

The next stroke that lord Barnard strucke,
Little Musgrave never strucke more.

AVith that bespake the ladye faire.

In bed whereas she laye,
* Althoughe thou art dead, my little Musgrave, 95

Yet for thee I will praye :

And wishe well to thy soule will I,

So long as I have life;
So will I not do for thee, Barnh^rd,

Thoughe I am thy wedded wife/ loo

He cut her pappes from off her brest ;

Great pitye it was to see
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode

Run trickling downe her knee.

' Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merry e men all, los
You never were borne for my goode :

A\niy did you not ofFer to stay my hande.
When you sawe me wax so woode?

For I have slaine the fairest sir knighte.

That ever rode on a steede; no

So have I done the fau-est lady.
That ever ware womans weede.

'lilE EW-lJLGllTS MAllIOX. 59

A grave, a grave/ lord Barnard ciydo,

* To putt these lovers in ;
I)ut lay my ladye o' tlie upper liande, 115

For sliee comes o' the better kin.'

t|t That tlie more modern copy is to be dated about the middle of tlie lust
eeiitiiry, will be readily conceived from the tenor of the concluding stanza, vi/.

This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought;

Then let us call for Grace,
That we may shun the wicked vice,

And fly from Sin a-pace.

XII.
THE EW-BUGHTS MAPJON.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

This sonnet appears to be ancient : that and it's simplicity of sentiment
have recommended it to a place here.

Will ye gae to the ew-bughts, Marion,

And wear in the sheip m' mee^
The sun shines sweit, my Marion,

But nae half sae sweet as thee.
0 Marion 's a bonny lass ; 5

And the blyth blinks in her ee :
And fain wad I marrie Marion,

Gin Marion wad marrie mee.

Theire 's gowd in your garters, Marion ;

And siller on your white hauss-bane:^ 10
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion

At eene quhan I cum hame.
Theire 's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,

Quha gape and glovvr wi' their ee

^ Ihniss hane^ i.e. The neck-bone. IMarian had probably a .silver locket on,
tied close to her neck with a ribband, an usual ornament in Scotland : where
a sore throat is called ' a saire hause/ properly ' liaise.'

GO IIEIJQL'ES OF A^'CIENT rOKTKV.

At kirk, quliaii they see my Manoii; 15

Bot naiie of them lues like mce.

Ive iiino milk-ews, my Marion,

A cow and a brawney quay ;
Ise gie tham au to my Marion,

Just on her bridal day. 20

And yees get a grein sey apron,

And waistcote 0' London broun ;
And wow bot ye will be vaporing

Quhaneir ye gang to the toun.

I me young and stout, my Marion, 25

None dance lik mee on the greine;
And gin ye forsak me, Marion,

Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on your pearlins, Marion,

And kirtle otli' cramasie ; so

And sune as my chin has nae haire on,

I sail cum west, and see yee.

XIII.

THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S
DAUGHTER

This ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some corrections)
was i)opular in the time of Q. Elizabeth, being- usually printed with her pic-
ture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface to ' Gul. Neubrig. Hist.
Oxon. 1719, 8vo. vol. I. p. Ixx.' It is quoted in Fletcher's comedy of the
' Pilorim,' Act 4. Sc. 1.

There was a shepherds daughter

Came tripping on the waye;
And there by chance a kniglite shee mett,

Which caused her to staye.

THE KNIGHT, AND SIIErilERD's DAUCTTTER. Gl

* Good morrowo to you, beauteous maicle/ 6

Tlieso words pronounced hee :

* 0, I shall dye this daye/ he sayd,

* If Ive not my wille of thee/

* The Lord forbid/ the maide replydc,

* That you shold waxe so wode!' lo
[But for all that shoe could do or saye,

He wold not be withstood.]

* Sith you have had your wille of nice,

And put me to open shame.
Now, if you are a courteous knighte, is

Tell me what is your namel'

* Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart.

And some do call mee Jille ;
But when I come to the kings faire courtc

They call me Wilfulle Wille/ 20

He sett his foot into the stirrup,

And awaye then he did ride ;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle.

And ranne close by his side.

But when she came to the brode water, 25

She sett her brest and swanime ;
And when she was got out againe,

She tooke to her heels and ranne.

He never was the courteous knighte.

To saye, * faire maide, will ye rideT 30

[And she was ever too loving a maide]

To saye, * sir knighte, abide.'

62 IlEIJQrr^ of AVriF,\T I'OKTin'.

Wien si 10 came to the kings fairo courto,

She knocked at tlie ring;
So readye was the king liimsclf S5

To let this faire maide in.

' Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,

Now Christ you save and see.
You have a knighte within your courte

This daye hath robbed mee/ 4u

* Wliat hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart i

Of pm^ple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small '? '

' He hath not robbed mee, my liege, 45

Of purple nor of pall :
But he hath gotten my maiden head,

AVhich grieves mee worst of all/

* Now if he be a batchelor.

His bodye He give to thee ; 5u

But if he be a married man.
High hanged he shall bee/

He called downe his merrye men all,

By one, by two, by three ;
Sir William used to bee the first, 55

But nowe the last came hee.

He brought her downe full fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove :

Ver. 50. ' His bodye He give to thee.' Tliis was agreeable to the feudal
customs ; The lord had a rij^ht to {^ive a wife to his vassals. See Shakespeare's
' All 's well that ends well.'

THE KNIGHT, AND SIIEPIIERD's DAUGHTER. Gl^

Fairo maid, * lie give the same to tliec;

Go, seeke tliee another love/ go

' 0 lie have none of your gold, she sayde,

Nor He have none of your fee ;
But your faire bodye I must have,

The king hath granted mee/

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then C5

Five hundred pound in golde,
Sa}ang, ' faire maide, take this to thee,

Thy fault will never be tolde/

* Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,'

These words then answered shee, 70

* But your own bodye I must have,

The king hath granted mee/

* Would I had dranke the water cleare.

When I did drinke the wine.
Bather than any shepherds brat 75

Sliold bee a ladye of mine!

Would I had drank the puddle foule.

When I did drinlv the ale,
Bather than ever a shepherds brat

Shold tell me such a tale!' so

* A shepherds brat even as I was,

You mote have let me bee,
1 never had come to the kings faire court e.
To crave any love of thee/

He sett her on a milk-wliite steede, 85

And himself upon a graye ;

CJ4 RKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

He liung a ])uglc about his ncckc,
And soe they rode awayo.

But when they came unto the place,

Where marriage-rites were done, oo

She proved herself a dukes daughter,

And he but a squires sonne.

* Now marrye me, or not, sir knight.

Your pleasure shall be free :
Jf you make me ladye of one good towne, t>5

He make you lord of three.'

• Ah ! cursed bee the gold,' he sayd,

* If thou hadst not been trewe,
I shold have forsaken my sweet love,

And have changed her for a newe/ loo

And now their hearts being linked fast,

They joyned hand in hande :
Thus he had both purse, and person too,

And all at his commando.

XIV.
THE SHEPHERD'S ADDRESS TO HIS MUSE.

This poem, orif»inally printed from the small MS. volume, mentioned above
m No. X. lias been improved by a more perfect copy in ' England's Helicon,'
uliere the author is discovered to be N. Breton.

Good Muse, rocke me aslepe

With some sweete harmony :
This wearie eyes is not to kepe

Thy wary company.

THE shepherd's address to his muse. 65

Swcetc Love, begon a while, 5

Tliou scest my licavines :
Beautie is borne but to beguyle

My haiie of happines.

See howe my little flocke.

That lovde to feede on highe, 10

Doe headlonge tumble downe the rocke,

And in the valley dye.

The bushes and the trees.

That were so freshe and greene,

Doe all their deintie colors leese, 15

And not a leafe is seene.

The blacke birde and the thrushe.
That made the woodes to ringe,

With all the rest, are now at hushe.

And not a note they singe. 20

Swete Philomele, the birde

That hath the heavenly throte,
Doth nowe, alas! not once afforde

Eecordinge of a note.

The flowers have had a frost, 25

The herbs have loste their savoure ;

And Phillida the fau^e hath lost
[For me her wonted] favour.

Thus all these careful sights,

So kill me in conceit ; 30

That now to hope upon deliglits.

It is l)ut mccrc dcccitc.

VOT>. I IF. K

6G RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And therefore, my sweote Muse,
That knowest what helpe is best.

Doe no wo thy heavenlio coniiuigc use 35

To sett my harte at rest :

And in a dreamc bewraie

What fate shal be my frende ;

Whether my life shall still decaye.

Or when my sorrowes ende. 40

XV.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR,

— is given ('with corrections) from an ancient copy in black letter, in tlie
Pepys collection, intitled, 'A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love of lord
Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the downfall of the browne girl.' In
the same collection may be seen an attempt to modernize this old song, and
reduce it to a different measure : a proof of its popidarity.i

Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester.

And a chaser of the kings deere ;
Faire Ellinor was a fine woman.

And lord Thomas he loved her deare.

* Come riddle my riddle, dear mother/ he sayd, 6

*And riddle us both as one;
Whether I shall marrye with faure Ellinbr,

And let the browne girl alone T

*The browne girl she has got houses and lands,
Faire Ellinor she has got none, lo

And therefore I charge thee on my blessing.
To bring me the browne girl home.'

^ Dr Jamieson took down from the lips of a lady in Arbroath, and
printed, a long ballad, entitled, ' Sweet Willie and Fair Annie,' on the same
subject.— Ed.

LOUD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLINOR. 67

And as it bcfellc on a high holidaye.

As many there are beside,
Lord Thomas he went to faire Elhnbr, 16

That should have been his bride.

And when he came to faire Ellinors bower,

He knocked there at the ring,
And who was so readye as faire Ellinbr,

To lett lord Thomas withinn. 20

*Wliat newes, what newes, lord Thomas,' she sayd?

*What newes dost thou bring to meeV
*I am come to bid thee to my wedding,

And that is bad new^es for thee.'

'0 God forbid, lord Thomas,' she sayd, 25

'That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been the bride my selfe.

And thou to have been the bridegrome/

*Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' she sayd,
* And riddle it all in one ; 30

Whether I shall goe to lord Thomas his wedding,
Or whether shall tarry at home'?'

* There are manye that are your friendes, daughter.

And manye a one your foe.
Therefore I charge you on my blessing, 35

To lord Thomas his wedding don't goe.'

* There are manye that are my friendes, mother ;

But were every one my foe.
Betide me life, betide me death,

To lord Thomas his wedding I 'Id goe.' 40

Vcr. 29, It should probably be, Reade me, read, &c. i.e. Advise me, advise.

^B FvELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Slio cloatlicd herself in gallant attire,

And her meiTje men all in greenc ;
And as they rid through eveiy towne,

They took her to bo some queene.

But when she came to lord Thomas liis gate, 45

She knocked there at the rmg ;
And who was so readye as lord Thomh-s,

To let faire Ellinor in.

* Is this your bride'?' fair Ellinor sayd,

'Methinks she looks wonderous browne ; 5o

Thou mightest have had as faire a woman.
As ever trod on the grounde.'

* Despise her not, fair Ellin,' he sayd,

* Despise her not imto mee ;
For better I love thy little finger, 65

Than all her whole bodee.'

This browne bride had a little penknife,

That was both long and sharpe,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,

She prickd fair Ellinor's harte. 60

'0 Christ thee save,' lord Thomas, hee sayd,
'Methinks thou lookst wonderous wan ;

Thou usedst to look with as fresh a colour,
As ever the sun shone on.'

'Oh, art thou blind, lord Thomas V she sayd, 65

*0r canst thou not very well see "?
Oh ! dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode

Run trickling do^^Ti my knee.'

CUPID AND OAMPASPE. 69

Lord Thomas lie had a sword by his side;

As he walked about the lialle, 70

Ho cut off his brides head from her shoulders^

And threw it against the walle.

He set the hilte against the groundo,

And the point against his harte.
There never three lovers together did meeto, 75

That sooner againe did parte.

%* The reader will find a Scottish song on a similar subject to this,
towards the end of this volume, iutltled, 'Lord Thomas and Lady Annet.'

XVI.
CUPID AND CAMPASPE.

This elegant little sonnet is found in the thu-d act of an old play intitled,
' Alexander and Campaspe,' written by John Lilye, a celebrated writer in the
tinie of queen Elizabeth. That play was first printed in 1591 : but this copy
is given from a later edition.^

Cupid and my Campaspe playd

At cardcs for kisses ; Cupid payd :

He stakes his quiver, bow and arroAVS,

His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows ;

Loses them too; then down he throws 5

The coral of his lippe, the rose

Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how)

With these, the crystal of his browe,

And then the dimple of his chinnc ;

All these did my Campaspe winne. lo

At last he set her both his eyes,

She won, and Cupid bhnd did rise.

0 Love! has she done this to thco'?

What shall, alas! become of mce?

1 Lilye wrote ' Eiiphucs,' and was the originator of Euphuism. Sec the
' Monastery.' — Ed.

70 UELIQUKS OF ANCIENT POETRY.

XVII.
THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN,

— is given from a written copy, containinj? some im})rovcments (perhaps
modern ones), upon the popular ballad, intitled, ' The famous flower of
Serving-men : or the Lady turned Serving-man.'

You beauteous ladyes, great and small,
I write unto you one and all,
AVhereby that you may understand
Wliat I have suffered in the land.

I was by birth a lady faire, 5

An ancient barons only heire,

And when my good old father dyed.

Then I became a young knightes bride.

And there my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower ; lo

A braver bower you ne'er did see
Then my true-love did build for mee.

And there I livde a ladye gay,

Till fortune wrought our loves decay ;

For there came foes so fierce a band, 1 5

That soon they over-run the land.

They came upon us in the night.

And brent my bower, and slew my knight;

And trembling hid in mans array,

I scant with life escaped away. 20

In the midst of this extremitie.
My servants all did from me flee ;
Thus was I left myself alone.
With heart more cold than any stone.

THE LADY TUR^^ED SERVIXG-MAN. 71

Yet tliougli my heart was full of care, 26

Heaven would not suffer me to dispaire.
Wherefore in haste I changed my name
From faire Elise, to sweet Williame ;

And therewithal! I cut my haire,

Kesolv'd my man's attire to weare ; so

And in my beaver, hose, and band,

I traveird far through many a land.

At length all wearied with my toil,

I sate me downe to rest awhile ;

My heart it was so filFd with woe, 35

That downe my cheeke the teares did flow.

It chanc'd the king of that same place

With all his lords a hunting was.

And seeing me weepe, upon the same

Askt who I was, and whence I came. 4o

Then to his grace I did replye,

* I am a poorc and friendlesse boye,
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee
A servmg-man of lowe degree.'

'Stand up, faire youth,' the king reply 'd, 45

* For thee a service 1 11 provyde :
But tell me first what thou canst do ;
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.

Wilt thou be usher of my hall.

To wait upon my nobles all? 60

Or wilt be taster of my wine,

To 'tend on me when I sliall dine ?

72 TIELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Or wilt thou bo my cliamberlaino,

About my person to remaine '?

Or wilt thou bo one of my guard, 55

And I will give thee great reward]

Chuse, gentle youth/ said he * thy place/

Then I reply 'd, * If it please your grace

To shew such favour unto mee,

Your chamberlaine I faine would bee/ co

Tlie king then smiling gave consent,
And straitwaye to his court I went ;
Where I behavde so faithfullle,
That hee great favour showd to mee.

Now marke what fortune did provide; 65

The king ho would a hunting ride
With all his lords and noble traine,
Sweet William must at home remaine.

Thus being left alone behind,

My former state came in my mind : ro

I wept to see my mans array ;

No longer now a ladye gay.

And meeting with a ladyes vest,

Within the same myself I drest ;

With silken robes, and jewels rare, 75

I deckt me, as a ladye faire :

And taking up a lute straitwaye.

Upon the same I strove to play ;

And sweetly to the same did sing,

As made both hall and chamber ring. 80

THE LADY TL'RNED SERVING-MAN. 73

*My father was as brave a lord.
As ever Europe might afford ;
My mother was a lady bright ;
My husband was a valiant knight :

And I myself a ladye gay, 85

Bedcckt with gorgeous rich array ;
The happiest lady in the land,
Had not more pleasure at command.

I had my musicke every day

Harmonious lessons for to play ; 90

I had my virgins fair and free.

Continually to wait on mee.

But now, alas! my husband's dead.

And all my friends are from me fled,

My former days are past and gone, 95

And I am now a serving-man.'

And fetching many a tender sigh.

As thinldng no one then was nigh,

In pensive mood I laid me lowe.

My heart was full, the tears did flowc. loo

The king, who had a huntinge gone,
Grew^e weary of his sport anone.
And leaving all his gallant traine,
Turn'd on the sudden home ai2:ainc :

And when he rcach'd his statelye tower, los

Hearing one sing within his bower,
He stopt to listen, and to see
Who sung there so melodiousUc.

74 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Thus heard ho cveryo word I sed.

And saw tlio pcarlyc tearcs I shed, no

And found to his amazement there,

Sweete WilHam was a ladye faire.

Then stepping in, * Faire ladye, rise.

And dry,' said he, * those lovelye eyes,

For I have heard thy mournful tale, ii5

The which shall turne to thy availe/

A crimson dye my face orespred,

I blusht for shame, and hung my head,

To find my sex and story knowne.

When as I thought I was alone. 120

But to be briefe, his royall grace
Grewe so enamoured of my face,
The richest gifts he proffered mee.
His mistress if that I would bee.

*Ah! no, my liege,' I firmly e sayd, 125

*I 11 rather in my grave be layd,
And though your grace hath won my heart,
I ne'er will act soe base a part.'

'Faire ladye, pardon me,' sayd hee,

'Thy virtue shall rewarded bee, 130

And since it is soe fairly tryde

Thou shalt become my royal bride.'

Then strait to end his amorous strife.

He tooke sweet William to his wife.

The like before was never scene, 135

A serving-man became a queene. '''w,"^

GIL MORRICE. 7j

XVIII.
GIL MOEEICE.

A SCOTTISH BiVLLAD.

The following piece hath rim through two editions in Scotland : the sccoiul
was printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertise-
ment, setting forth that the preservation of this poem was owing ' to a lady,
who favoured the printers with a copy, as it was carefully collected from the
mouths of old women and nurses ; ' And ' any reader tiiat can render it more
correct or complete,' is desired to oblige the public with such improvements.
In consequence of this advertisement sixteen additional verses have been pro-
duced and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper
places: (these are from ver. 109, to ver. 121, and from ver. 121, to ver. 129,
but are perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpolation.)

As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, we have assigned it a
place among our early pieces : though, after all, there is reason to believe it
has received very considerable modern improvements : for in the Editor's
ancient MS. collection is a very old imperfect copy of the same ballad :
wherein though the leading features of the story are the same, yet the colour-
ing here is so much improved and heightened, and so many additional strokes
are thrown in, that it is evident the whole has undergone a revisal.

N.B. The Editor's IMS. instead of ' lord Barnard,' has ' John Stewart ; ' and
instead of ' Gil Morrice,' ' Child Maurice,' which last is probably the original
title. See above, No. IX.

Gil Morrice was an erles son,

His name it waxed wide ;
It was nae for his great riclies,

Nor yet his mickle pride ;
Bot it was for a lady gay, 6

That livd on Carron side.

* Quhair sail I get a bonny boy,

That will win hose and shoen ;
That will gae to lord Barnards ha',

And bid his lady cum ? lo

And ye maun rin my errand Willie ;

And ye may rin wi' pride ;
Quhen other boys gae on their foot.

On horse-back ye sail ride.'

Ver. 11, something seems wanting here.

7G llEUQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

' 0 no ! Oh no ! my master dear ! is

I dare nac for my life ;
1 11 no gac to the bauld barbns,

For to triest furth his wife.'
' My bird Wilhe, my boy Willie;

My dear Willie', he sayd : 20

' How can ye strive against the stream ?

For I sail be obeyd.'

' Bot, 0 my master dear ! ' he cryd,

* In grene wod ^ ye 're your lain ;
Gi ower sic thochts, I walde ye rede, 25

For fear ye should be tain.'
' Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha',

Bid liir cum here wi speid :
If ye refuse my heigh command,

111 gar your body bleid. 30

Gae bid hir take this gay mantel,

'Tis a' gowd bot the hem ;
Bid hir cum to the gude gTcne wode,

And bring nane bot hir lain :
And there it is, a silken sarke, 35

Hir ain hand sewd the sleive ;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,

Speir nae bauld barons leave.'

* Yes, I will gae your black errand.

Though it be to your cost ; 40

Sen ye by me will nae be warn'd.
In it ye sail find frost.

Vcr. 32, and 58, perhaps, 'bout the hem.

1 The * Green wood ' in this ballad, is the old forest of Dr.nduff in Stirling-
shire.— Ed.

GIL MORRICE. 77

Tlic baron he is a man of miglit.

Ho ncir could biclc to taunt,
As ye will see before its niclit, 45

How sma' ye hae to vaunt.

And sen I maun your errand rin

Sae sair against my will,
I'se mak a vow and keip it trow,

It sail be done for ill/ so

And quhen he came to broken briguo,

He bent his bow and swam ;
And qiilien he came to grass growing,

Set down his feet and ran.

And quhen he came to Barnards ha', 65

Would neither chap nor ca' :
Bot set his bent bow to his breist.

And lichtly lap the wa'.
He wauld nae tell the man his errand,

Though he stude at the gait ; eo

Bot straiht into the ha' he cam,

Quliair they were set at meit.

* Hail ! hail ! my gentle ske and dame !

My message winna waite ;
Dame, ye maun to the gude grene wod cs

Before that it be late.
Ye 're bidden tak this gay mantel,

Tis 2b gowd bot the hem :
You maun gae to the gude grene wode,

Ev'n by your sel alane. 7o

And there it is, a silken sarke.
Your ain hand sewd the slcivej

Vcr. 58, Could this be the wall of the castle?

78 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Yo maun gao spcik to Gill ^^loricc;

Speir nae baukl barons leave/
The lady stamped \vi' hir foot, 75

And winked wi' liir ee ;
Bot a' that she coud say or do,

Forbidden he wad nae bee.

* Its surely to my bow'r-wom^n ;

It neir could be to me/ 80

* I brocht it to lord Baniards lady ;

I trow that ye be she/
Then up and spack the wyhe nurse,
(The bairn upon hir knee)

* If it be cum frae Gill Morlce, 85

It 's deir welcum to mee/

* Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse,

Sae loud I heird ye lee ;
I brocht it to lord Barnards lady ;

I trow ye be nae shee/ 9o

Then up and spack the bauld barbn,

An angry man was hee ;
He 's> tain the table wi' his foot,

Sae has he wi' his knee ;
Till siller cup and [mazer ^] dish 95

In flinders he gard flee,

' Gae bring a robe of your eliding,

That hings upon the pin;
And 1 11 gae to the gude gTene wode.

And speik wi' your lemman/ loo

' 0 bide at hame, now lord Barnard,

I warde ye bide at hame;

Ver. 88, Perhaps, loud say I heire.

1 i.e., a drinking cup of maple : other Edit, read ezar.

GIL MORRICE. / 9

Neil' wyto a man for violence,
That neir wate ye wi' nane/

Gil Morice sate in gude grene wode, los

He wliistled and lie sang:

* 0, what mean a' the folk coming,

My mother tarries lang/
His hair was like the threeds of gold,

Dra\Mie frae Minervas loome: no

His lipps like roses di^apping dew,

His breath was a' perfume.

His brow was Hke the mountain snae

Gilt by the morning beam :
His cheeks Hke Hving roses glow: 115

His een like azure stream.
The boy was clad in robes of grene,

Sweete as the infant spring :
And like the mavis on the bush.

He gart the vaUies ring. 120

The baron came to the grene wode,

Wi' mickle dule and care.
And there he first spied Gill Morice

Kameing his yellow hair.
That sweetly wavd around his face, 125

That face beyond compare :
He sang sae sweet it might dispel,

A' rage but fell despair.

* Nae wonder, nae wonder. Gill Morice,

My lady loed thee weel, 330

Vcr. 128, So Milton,

* Vernal delight and joy : able to drive
All sadness but despair.' U. iv. v. 155.

80 UELIQUES OF ANCIENT I'OETRY.

Tlic fairest part of my boJie

Is blacker than thy heel.
Yet neir the less now, Gill Morice,

For a' thy great beautib,
Ye's rew the day ye eir was born ; 135

That head sail gae wi' me/

Now he has drawn his trusty brand,

And slaited on the strae ;
And thro' Gill Morice' fair body

He's gard cauld iron gae. 140

And he has tain Gill Morice' head

And set it on a speir ;
The meanest man in a' his train

Has gotten that head to bear.

And he has tain Gill Morice up, 145

Laid him across liis steid,
And brocht liim to his painted bowr

And laid him on a bed.
The lady sat on castil wa'.

Beheld baith dale and doun; i5o

And there she saw Gill Morice' head

Cum trailing to the toun.

* Far better I loe that bluidy head,

Both and that yellow hair.
Than lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 155

As they lig here and thair.'
And she has tain her Gill Morice,

And kissd baith mouth and chin :
' I was once as fow of Gill Morice,

As the hip is 0' the stean. ico

GIL MOiUaCE. 81

I got yo in my father's house,

AVi' micklc sin and shame ;
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode,

Under the heavy rain.
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, i6o

And fondly seen thee sleip ;
But now I gae about thy grave,

The saut tears for to weip/

And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik.

And syne his bluidy chin: i7o

* 0 better I loe my Gill Morice

Than sJ my kith and kin!'

* Away, away, ye ill woman,

And an il deith mait ye dee :
Gin I had kend he 'd bin your son, i75

He 'd ne'er bin slain for mee/

*Obraid me not, my lord Barnard!

Obraid me not for shame!
Wi' that saim speir 0 pierce my heart!

And put me out o' pain. 180

Since nothing bot Gill Morice head

Thy jelous rage could quell.
Let that saim hand now tak hir life,

That neir to thee did ill.

To me nae after days nor nichts 185

Will eir be saft or kind;
1 11 fill the air with heavy sighs.

And greet till I am blind.'

* Enouch o' blood by me 's bin spilt,

Seek not your death frae mce; 190

VOL. in. p

82 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than cather him or thco.

With wacfo wae I hear your plaint ]

Sair, sair I rew the dcid,
Tliat eir this cursed hand of mine 195

Had gard his body bleid.
Dry up your tears, my winsome dame,

Ye ne'er can heal the wound ;
Ye see his head upon the speir,

His heart's blude on the ground. 200

I curse the hand that did the deid,

The heart that thocht the ill;
The feet that bore me wi' sik speid,

The comely youth to kill.
1 11 aye lament for Gill IMorice, 205

As gin he were mine ain ;
1 11 ne'er forget the dreiry day

On which the youth was slain.'

*^jj* This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of tlie tragedy of ' Douglas.'
Since it was first printed, the Editor has been assured that the foregoing
Ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where ihe hero is universally
known by the name of Child Maurice, pronounced by the common people
Cheild or Cheeld ; -which occasioned the mistake.
It may be proper to mention tliat other copies read ver. 110, thus :

Shot frae the golden sun.

And ver. 116, as follows:

His een like azure sheene.

THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

SERIES TIE THIED.

BOOK II.

THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY

contains a short summary of the exploits of this famous champion, as

recorded in the old story books ; and is commonly intitled, ' A pleasant song
of the valiant deeds of chivalry achieved by that noble kniglit sir Guy of
Wanvick, who, for the love of fair Pliclis, became a hermit, and dyed in a
cave of craggy rocke, a mile distant from Warwick.'

The history of sir Guy, though now very properly resigned to childi-en, was
once admired by all readers of wit and taste : for taste and wit had once their
childhood. Although of English growth, it was early a favourite with other
nations: it appeared in French in 1525 ; and is alluded to in the old Spanish
romance Tirante el bianco, which, it is believed, was written not long after
the year 1430. See advertisement to the French translation, 2 vols. 12ino.

The original whence all these stories are extracted is a very ancient romance
in old English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a celebrated piece even
in his time, (viz.

' Men speken of romances of price,
Of Home childe and Ippotis,
Of Bevis, and sir Guy,' &c. R. of Tliop.)

and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners and brideales, as we
learn from Puttenham's Art of Poetry, 4to, 1589.
Ti)is ancient romance is not wholly lost. An imperfect copy in black letter,

' Iinprynted at London for AVyliiam Copland,' in 34 sheets 4to, without

date, is still preserved among Mr Garrick's collection of old plays. As a
specimen of the poetry of this antique rhymer, take his description of the
dragon mentioned in ver. 105 of the following ballad :

— ' A messenger came to the king.
Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now,
For bad tydinges I bring you,
In North umberlande tiicre is no man,
But that they be slayne everychone :
For tliere dare no man route.
By twenty mylc rounde aboute,
For doubt of u fowlc dragon,
Tliat sleath men and beastcs downe,
He is blacke as any cole,
Rugi^ud as a rough fole;

84 REUQUES OF ANCIENT POETIIV.

His bodye from the navill upwarde

No man may it pierce it is ho liurde;

His neck is jfreat as any sumrnere;

He rennetli as swifte as any distrere;

Paws he liatli as a lyon :

All that he toucheth he sleath dead downe.

Great winges he hatli to flight,

That is no man that bare iiim might.

There may no man flght liim agaync,

But that he sleath him certayne :

For a fowler beast then is he,

Ywis of none never heard ye.'

Sir William Diigdale is of opinion that the story of Guy is not wholly apo-
cryphal, though he acknovvledoes the monks have sounded out his praises too
liyperbolically. In particular, he gives the duel fou^^lit with the Danish
champion as a real historical truth, and fixes the date of it in the year 92G,
Mlixt. Guy, 07. See his Warwickshire.

The following is written upon the samo plan as ballad V. Book I. but which
is the original and which tlie copy, cannot be decided. This song is ancient,
as may be inferred from the idiom preserved in the margin, vcr 94. 102 : and
was once popular, as appears from Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle,
Act. 2. Sc. ult.

It is here published from an ancient MS. copy in the Editor's old folio
volume, collated with two printed ones, one of wliich is in black letter in the
Pepys collection.

Was ever kniglit for ladyes sake

Soe tost in love, as I sir Guy
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright

As ever man beheld with eye 1

She gave me leave myself to try, 5

The valiant knight with sheeld and speare.

Ere that her love shoe w^old grant me ;
Which made mee venture far and neare.

Then proved I a baron bold,

In deeds of amies the dou2:htvest knio'ht lo
That in those dayes in England was,

With sw^orde and speare in feild to fight.

An English man I w^as by bu'thc :
In faith of Christ a christyan true :

Ver. 9, The proud sir Guy, PC.

THE LEGEND OF SIR GLY. 85

The wicked lawcs of iiifi Jells 15

I sought by prowesse to subdue.

[Nine] hundred twenty yeere and odde
After our Saviour Christ his birth,

When king Athelstone w^ore the crowne,

I lived heere upon the earth. 20

Sometime I w^as of Warwicke erle,

And, as I sayd, of very truth
A ladyes love did me constraine

To seek strange ventures in my youth.

To win me fame by feates of amies 25

In strange and sundry heathen lands ;

Where I atchieved for her sake

Eiglit dangerous conquests with my hands.

For first I sayled for Normandye,

And there I stoutly e wan in fight 30

The emperours daughter of Almaine,

From manye a vallyant worthye knight.

Then passed I the seas to Greece
To helpe the emj)erour in his right ;

Against the mighty e souldans hoaste S5

Of puissant Persians for to fight.

Wiiere I did slay of Sarazens,

And heathen pagans, manye a man ;

And slew the souldans cozen dcere,

Who had to name dough tye Coldran. -lo

Ver. 17, T\\ oil 11 lulled, MS. ;iim1 P.

66 ilELigUiiS OF AMCIENT I'OETKV.

EskolJcrcd a famous knii>lit

To death likewise I did pursue :
And Elmayne king of Tyre alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to vie we.

I went into the souldans hoast, 45

Being thither on embassage sent,

And brought his head aw^aye with mee ;
I having slaine him in his tent.

There was a dragon in that land

Most fiercelye mett me by the waye so

As liee a lyon did pursue,

AVhich I myself did alsoe slay.

Then soon I j)ast the seas from Greece,

And came to Pavye land aright :
Wliere I the duke of Pavye killed, 65

His hainous treason to requite.

To England then I came \vith speede,
To wedd f aire Phelis lady bright :

For love of whome I travelled farr

To try my manhood and my might. 60

But when I had espoused her,
I stayd w^ith her but fortye dayes.

Ere that I left this ladye faire,

And went from her beyond the seas.

All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 65

My voyage from her I did take
Unto the blessed Holy-land,

For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.

THE LEGEND OF SIR CUV. 87

Where I crlc Jonas did redeeme.

And all liis sonnes wliicli were fiftecnc, 70
"Who with the crucll Sarazens

In prison for long time had becne.

I slew the gyant Amarant,

In battel iiercclje hand to hand :
And doughty Barknard killed I, 75

A treacherous knight of Pavye land.

Then I to England came againc,

And here with Colbronde fell I fought :

An ugly gyant, which the Danes

Had for their champion hither brought. 80

I overcame him in the fcild.

And slewe him soone right valliantlye;
Wlierebye this land I did redeeme

From Danish tribute utterlye.

And afterwards I offered upp 86

The use of weapons solemnlye
At Winchester, whereas I fought,

In sight of manye farr and nye.

[But first,] neare Winsor, I did slaye

A bore of passing might and strength ; 90

Whose like in England never was

For hugenesse both in bredth, and length.

Some of his bones in Warwicke yett,

Witliin the castle there doe lye :
One of his sheeld-bones to this day 96

Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.

Ver. Ot, 102, dolh lye, MS.

88 KKLlgUES OF ANCIENT POETKT.

On Dunsmoro lieatli I alsoo slcwo
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,

Calld tlie Dun-cow of Dunsmore licatli ;

Wliicli manye people had opprest. loo

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett

Still for a monument doe lye ;
And there exposed to lookers viewe

As wonderous strange, they may espye.

A dragon in Northumberland, 105

I alsoe did in fight destroye.
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse.

And all the countrye sore annoye.

At length to Warwicke I did come,

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowno; 110

And there I lived a hermitts life
A mile and more out of the towne.

AVliere with my hands I hewed a house

Out of a craggy rocke of stone ;
And lived lilce a palmer poore 115

Within that cave myself alone :

iVnd day lye came to begg my bread

Of Phelis att my castle gate ;
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe

Who dailye mourned for her mate. 120

Till att the last I fell sore sicke,
Yea sicke soe sore that I must dye ;

I sent to her a ring of golde,

By wliicli shoe knew me presentlye.

GUY AND AMARANT. 89

Then sliee repairing to tlie cave 125

Before tliat I gave up tlie gliost ;
Herself closd up my dying eyes :

My Plielis faire, whom I lovd most.

Thus dreadful death did me aiTest,

To bring my corpes unto the grave ; 130

And like a palmer dyed I,

Wherby I sought my soule to save.

!My body that endured this toyle,

Though now it be consumed to mold ;

My statue faire engraven in stone, 135

In Warwicke still you may behold.

GUY AND AMARANT.

The Editor found tliis poem in his ancient folio manuscript among tlie old
ballads ; he was desirous therefore that it should still accompany them ; and
as it is not altogether devoid of merit, its insertion here will be pardoned.

Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to believe that it is
only a part of a much larger poem, which contained the whole history of sir
Guy : for, upon comparing it with the common story book 12mo, we find the
latter to be nothing more than this poem reduced to prose: which is only
effected by now and then altering the rhyme, and throwing out some few of
the poetical ornaments. The disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter
to pick complete stanzas in any page of that book.

The author of this poem has shown some invention. Though he took iho
f^nhjcct from the old romance quoted before, he has adorned it afresh, and
made the story entirely his own.

Guy journeyes towards that sanctifyed ground,
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood,

Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd.
And where for sinf ull man he shed his blood :

To see the sepulcher was his intent, 6

The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent.

i^O RELIQUES OF ANX'IENT rOKTRY.

Witli tedious miles lie tyred his wcaryc feet,
And passed desart places full of danger,

At last with a most woef uU wight ^ did meet,

A man that unto sorrow was noc stranger : lo

For he had fifteen sonnes, made captives all

To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall.

A gyant called Amarant detaind them,

Whom noe man durst encounter for his strengih :

Who in a castle, which he held, had chaind them: is
Guy questions, 'wlierel' and understands at length

The place not farr. — ' Lend me thy sword/ quoth hee,

' He lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free/

With that he goes, and lays upon the dore,

Like one that sayes, I must, and will come in : 20

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before;
For noe such knocking at his gate had bin :

Soe takes his keyes, and clubb, and cometh out

Staring with ireful countenance about.

' Sirra,' quoth hee, ' w^hat busines hast thou heere ^ 25
Art come to feast the crowes about my walls ^

Didst never heare, noe ransome can him cleere.
That in the compasse of my furye falls'?

For making me to take a porters paines.

With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines.' so

' Gyant,^ quoth Guy, ' y'are quarrelsome I see,
Choller and you seem very neere of km :

Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee ;
I have bin better armd, though no we goe thin ;

But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, 35

Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right.'

1 Erie Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad.

GUY AND AMARANT. 91

Soo draws liis sword, salutes liim with tlic same
About tlio head, the shouhlers, and the side :

Wliilst his erected ckibb doth death proclaime,

Standinge with luige Colossus' spacious stride, 40

Putting such vigour to his knotty beame.

That like a furnace he did smoke extreame.

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vaine.
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still.

And ever ere he heav'd his chibb againe, 45

Did brush his plated coat again his will :

Att such advantage Guy wold never fayle.

To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle.

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe.

And sayd to Guy, ' As thou rt of humane race, 50

Shew itt in this, give natures Avants their dewe,
Let me but goe, and drinke in yonder place :

Thou canst not yeeld to [me] a smaller thing.

Than to graunt life, thats given by the spring/

* I graunt thee leave,' quoth Guye, ' goe drink thy last.
Go pledge the dragon, and the salvage bore:^ 56

Succeed the tragedyes that they have past,
But never thinke to taste cold water more :

Di'inke deepe to Death and unto him carouse :

Bid him receive thee in his earthen house/ go

See to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst ;

Takeing the water in extremely like
Some wracked sliipp that on a rocke is burst,

Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke ;
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands, C5

That Guv admirino- to behold it stands.

' Wliicli Guy li;id ;<lain bL-fure. Vcr. fM, biilkc, MS. and I'CC.

02 ItELlQUES OF A^•C1E^•T rOETllY.

*Come on,' quotli Guy, *let us to worke againe,
Thou stayest about thy liquor oveiiong;

The fish, which in the river doe rernaine,

Will want thereby ; tliy drmking doth them wrong :

But I will see their satisfaction made, 71

With gyants blood they must, and shall be payd/

* Villaine,' quoth Amarant, ' lie crush thee streight ;

Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs oftence :
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight, 75

Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence :
Dresse thee for ravens dyett I must needes ;
And breake thy bones, as they were made of reedes/

Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes,

Which w^orthye Guy cold ill endure to heare, so

He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes,
Which like two pillars did his body beare :

Amarant for those wounds in choUer grow^es

And desperatelye att Guy his clubb he throwes :

AVhich did directly on his body light, 85

So violent, and w^eighty there-withall,

That downe to ground on sudden came the knight;
And, ere he cold recover from the fall.

The gyant gott his clubb againe in fist.

And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist. 90

* Traytor,' quoth Guy, * thy falsehood He repay,

This coward act to intercept my bloode/
Sayes Amarant, * He murther any way,

With enemyes all vantages are good :
O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 95

Be sure of it I wold dispatch thee soe/

GUY AND AMARANT. 93

* Its well/ said Guy, ' thy lioncst tliouglits appcarc,
AYitliin that bcastlyc biilkc where devills dwell ;

Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare,

But will be landlords when thou comest in hell : loo

\i\e miscreant, prepare thee for their den,

Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men.

But breathe thy selfe a time while I goe drinke.
For fiameinc^ Phoebus with his fyerye eve

Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke ms

My thirst wold serve to drinke an ocean drye :

Forbear a litle as I delt with thee/

Quoth Amarant, ' Thou hast no foole of mee.

Noe, sill}'e A^Totch, my father taught more witt,
How I shold use such enemyes as thou; no

By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt.

To understand that thirst constraines thee now ;

For all the treasm'e, that the world containes.

One drop of water shall not coole tliy vaines.

Beleeve my foe ! why, 'twere a madmans part: 115

Befresh an adversarye to my wrong!
If thou imagine this, a child thou art :

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long
To be soe simple : now I know^ thy want,

A minutes space of breathing 1 11 not grant/ 120

And with these words heaving aloft his clubb
Into the ayre, he swings the same about:

Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples nil)]).
And, like the Cyclops, in his pride doth strout :

*Sirra,' sayes hee, * I have you at a lift, 12$

Now vou are come unto vour latest shift.

94 IIELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Perish forever: with this stroke I send thee

A medicine, that will doe thy thirst much good ;

Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee,
And then wee 11 have carouses of thy blood: iso

Here 's at thee with a butchers downright blow,

To please my furye with thme overtlu'ow/

* Infernall, false, obdurate feend,' said Guy,
*That seemst a lumpe of cruel tye from hell;

Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny 135

The thing to mee wherin I used thee well :

AVith more revenge, than ere my sword did make,

On thy accursed head revenge lie take.

Thy gyants longitude shall shorter shrinko.

Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof: uo

Farewell my thirst; I doe disdaine to drinke,

Streames, keepe your waters to your o^vne behoof;

Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto ;

With those pearle drops I will not have to do.

Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good- will, 145

For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout :

You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill;
It is not that same clubb will beare you out;

And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne/ —

A blowe that brought him with a vengeance downe.

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest, i5i

And from his shoulders did his head divide ;

Which with a yawninge mouth did gape, unblest;
Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide

To open and to shut, till life was spent. 155

Then Guy tooke keyes and to the castle went.

GUY AND AMARANT. 95

AVlicrc manyo woefiill captives he did find,
Wliicli had beene tyred with extremityes ;

Whom he m frcindly manner did miLind,

And reasoned with them of their miseryes: ico

Echo told a tale with teares, and siglies, and cryes,

All weeping to him with complaining eyes.

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay,
That were sm^prised in the desart wood,

And liad noe other dyett everye day, ig5

But flesh of humane creatures for their food :

Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed.

And in their wombes their husbands buryed.

Now he bethinkes him of his being there.

To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes ;

And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours lieare, i7i
By which sad sound's direction on he goes,

Untill he findes a darksome obscure gate,

Arm'd strongly ouer all with ii'on plate.

That he unlockes, and enters, where appeares 175
The strangest object that he ever saw;

Men that with famishment of many y cares.

Were like dcathes pictm'e, which the painters
draw ;

Divers of them were hanged by echo thombe ;

Others head-downward: by the middle some. 180

With diligence he takes them from the walle,
With lybei-tye their thraldome to acquaint :

Then the perplexed knight their father calls.

And sayes, * Beceive thy sonnes though poore and
faint :

06 UELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

I promisJ you their liv^os, accept of tliat; is5

But did not ^varrant you tliey sliold be fat.

The castle I doe give thee, heere 's the kcyes,
Where tyranye for many yeeres did dwell :

Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease.

For pittyes sake, use wronged women well: loo

Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do :

But poore weake women have not strength thereto.'

The good old man, even overjoyed with this,

Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete :

' Father,' quoth he, * refraine soe base a kiss, 195

For age to honor youth I hold unmeete :

Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can,

I goe to mortifie a sinfidl man.'

*+* The foregoing poem on Guy and Amarant has been discovered to bo
a fragment of, ' The famous historic of Guy earl of Warwioke, by Samuel
Rowlands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649, 4to,' in xii cantos, beginning
thus :

'When dreadful Mars in armour every day.'

Whether the edition in 1649 was the first, is not known, but the author, Sam.
Rowlands, was one of the minor poets who lived in the reigns of Q. Elizabeth
and James I. and perhaps later. Ilis other poems are chiefly of the religious
kind, which makes it probable that the hist, of Guy was one of his earliest
performnaces. — There are extant of his (1.) 'The Betraying of Christ, Judas
in dispaire, the seven words of our Saviour on tiie crosse, with other poems on
the passion,' &c. 1598, 4to. [Ames Typ. p. 428.]— (2.) 'A Theatre of de-
lightful Recreation. Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 1605,' 4to. (Penes
editor.) This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly taken from the old
Testament. (3.) 'Memory of Christ's miracles, in verse. Lond. 1618, 4to.'
(4.) Heaven's glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror.' Lond. 1638, 8vo.
[These two in Bod. Cat.]

In the present edition the foregoing poem has been much improved from the
printed copy.

THK AULU CJOOD-JfAN. i)7

III.

THE AULD GOOD-MAN.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

I have not been able to meet ■svitli a more ancient copy of tliis humorous
old song, than that printed in the ' Tea-Table Miscellany,' i^^c. which seems
to have admitted some corruptions.

Late in an evening forth I went

A little before tlie sun gacle down,
And there I chanc't, by accident,

To light on a battle new begim :
A man and his wife were fawn in a strife, 6

I canna weel tell ye how it began ;
But aye she wail'd her wretched life,

Cryeng, ' Evir alake, mine auld goodman ! '

He.

Thy auld goodman, that thou tells of.

The country kens where he was born, lo

Was but a silly poor vagabond.

And ilka ane leugh him to scorn :
For he did spend and make an end

Of gear [his fathers nevir] wan;
He gart the poor stand frae the door; is

Sae tell nae man* of thy auld goodman.

She.

My heart, alake! is liken to break.
Whan I tliink on my winsome John,

His bHnkan ee, and gait sae free.

Was naithing like thee, thou dosend drone ; 20

Wi^ his rosLo face, and flaxen hair,
And slun as white as ony swan,

VOL. III. G

98 UEUC^UES OF A^'C1ENT POETRY.

lie was large and tall, and comely witliall;
Thou It nevir be like mine auld goodman.

He.

Why dost thou plein ? I thee maintein ; 25

For meal and mawt thou disna want :
But thy wild bees I canna please,

Now whan our gear gins to grow scant :
Of houshold stuff thou hast enough ;

Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; 30

Of sickhke ware he left thee bare ;

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman.

She.

Yes I may tell, and fret my sell.

To think on those blyth days I had,
Whan I and he together ley 35

In armes into a well-made bed :
But now I sigh and may be sad.

Thy com^age is cauld, thy colour wan.
Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep ;

Thou It nevir be like mine auld goodman. 40

Then coming was the night sae dark,

And gane was a' the light of day ;
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark,

And therefore wad nae longer stay;
Then up he gat, and ran his way, 45

I trowe, the wife the day she wan;
And aye the owreword of the fray

Was * Evir alake ! mine auld goodman.'

FAllt MAUOARET AND SWEET WILLIAM. DD

IV.

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.

This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's ' Kniglit of the Burning
Pestle,' Acts 2d and 3d ; altho' the six Hues there preserved are somewhat
different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. Tlie reader will
not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is only given from a modern
printed cop}'' picked up on a stall. It's full title is ' Fair Margaret's Misfor-
tunes ; or Sweet William's frightful dreams on his wedding night, with the
sudden death and burial of those noble lovers.' —

The Imes preserved in the play are this distich,

* You are no love for me, Margaret,

I am no love for you.'

And the following stanza,

♦ When it was grown to dark midnight,

And all were fast asleep,
In came Margarets grimly ghost
And stood at Williams feet.'

These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most
beautiful bajlads in our own or any language. See the song iutitled ' Mar-
garet's Ghost,' at the end of this volume.

Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which were
communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song
repeated in her infancy.

As it fell out on a long summer's day

Two lovers they sat on a liill ;
They sat together that long summer's day,

And could not talk their fill.

* I see no harm by you, Margaret, 5

And you see none by mee ;
Before to-morrow at eight 0' the cloclc

A rich wedding you shall sec.'

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-wind5w,

Combing her yellow hair; 10

There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
As they were a riding near.

lUO KKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETUV.

Then down she layd her ivory combe,

And braided her hair in twain :
She went aliv^e out of her bower, i5

But ne'er came alive in 't again.

When day was gone, and night was come,

And all men fast asleep.
Then came the spirit of fair Marg'ret,

And stood at Williams feet. 20

* Are you awake, sweet William V shee said;

* Or, sweet William, are you asleep '?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,

And me of my winding sheet/

When day was come, and night w^as gone, 25

And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady sayd,

* My dear, I have cause to weep.

I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye.

Such dreames are never good : 30

I dreamt my bower was full of red [wine],

And my bride-bed full of blood.'

' Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured Sir,

They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of red [wine], 35

And thy bride-bed full of blood.

He called up his merry men all.

By one, by two, and by three ;
Saying, ' I '11 away to fair Marg'ret's bowser.

By the leave of my la die.' 40

Ver. 31, 35, Swiiie, TCC.

TAlll MARGARET AND SWEET ^VlLLlA.^r. lOl

And when he came to fan* Marg'ret's bower,

He knocked at the rmg* ;
And who so ready as her seven brethren

To let sweet Wilham in.

Then he turned up the covering- sheet, 45

' Pray let me see the dead ;
Methinks she looks all pale and wan.

She hath lost her cherry red.

1 11 do more for thee, Margaret,

Than any of thy kin ; so

For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,

Though a smile I cannot win.'

With that bespake the seven brethren,

Maldng most piteous mono :
' You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 55

And let our sister alone.'

'If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,

I do but w^hat is right;
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse

By day, nor yet by night. 60

Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,

Deal on your cake and your w4no ^ :
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-dav,

Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.'

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day, 65

Swxet William dyed the morrow :
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love.

Sweet William dyed for sorrow.

^ Alliuling to the dole anciently ^ivcn at iiiMrnil.s.

102 UKLIQUE.S OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Margaret was biiryod in the lower chancel,

And Wilham in the higher: 70

Out of her brest there sprang a rose.
And out of his a briar.

They gi'ew till they grew unto the church-top,
And then they could grow no highei- ;

And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 75

Wliich made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,

As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them dovvTi,

Or they had now been there. so

BARBARA ALLEN^S CRUELTY.

Given, with some corrections, from an old black letter co})y, intitled, ' Barbara
Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy.'

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne.

There was a faire maid dwellin.
Made every youth crye, *Wel-awaye!'

Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merrye month of may, 5

When gToene buds they were swellin,

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then.

To the town, where shoe was dwellin; 10

* You must come to my master deare,

Giff your name be Barbara Allen.

BARBARA ALLEN's CRUELIT. 103

For death is printed on his face,

And ore his hart is steaUn :
Then haste away to comfort him, 15

0 lovelye Barbara Allen/

* Though death be printed on his face,

And ore his harte is stealin,
Yet Uttle better shall he bee.

For bonny Barbara Allen/ 20

So slowly, slowly, she came up,

And slowly she came nye him ;
And all she sayd, when there she came,

' Yong man, I think y'are dying/

He turnd his face unto her strait, 25

With deadlye sorrow sighing;

* 0 lovely maid, come pity mee,

Ime on my deth-bed lying/

* If on your death-bed you doe lye.

What needs the tale you are tcUin ; 30

I cannot keep you from your death ;
Farewell,' sayd Barbara Allen,

He turnd his face unto the wall,

As deadlye pangs he fell in :
'Adieu! adieu! adieu to you all, 35

Adieu to Barbara Allen/

As she was walking ore the fields.

She heard the bell a knellin;
And every stroke did seem to saye,

* Unworthy Barbara Allen ! ' 40

104 HELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

She tiii'iid lior boJyo round al^out,
And spied the corps a coming:

* Laye down, laye down the corps,' she sayd,

' That I may look upon him/

With scornful eye she looked do^vne, 45

Her cheeke with laughter swcllin ;

Wliilst all her friends cryd out amaine,
* Unworthye Barbara Allen ! '

When he was dead, and laid in grave,

Her harte was struck with sorrowe, 5u

* 0 mother, mother, make my bed,

For I shall dye to-morrowe.

Hard harted creature him to slight,

Who loved me so dearlye :
0 that I had beene more Idnd to him, 55

When he was alive and neare me!'

She, on her death-bed as she laye,

Beg'd to be buried by him ;
And sore repented of the daye.

That she did ere denve him. eo

* Farewell,' she sayd, ' ye virgins all,

And shun the fault I fell in :
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.'

SWEET WILLIAMS GHOST. 105

VI.

SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.

From Allan Ramsay's ' Tea-Table Miscellany,' The concluding stanza of this

piece seems modern.

There came a gliost to Margaret's door,

With many a grievous grone.
And ay lie tirled at the pin ;

But answer made she none.

' Is this my father Philip '? o

Or is't my brother John?
Or is 't my true love Willie,

From Scotland new come home '? '

* Tis not thy father Philip ;

Nor yet thy brother John : lo

But tis thy true love Willie

From Scotland new come home.

O sweet Margret! 0 dear Margret!

I pray thee speak to mee :
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 15

As I gave it to thee.'

* Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,

[Of me shalt nevir win,]
Till that thou come within my bower,

And kiss my cheek and chin.' 20

* If I should come within thy bower,

I am no earthly man :
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp.
Thy days will not be lang.

106* RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

0 sweet Mar^-et, 0 dear Mar«;ict, 25

I pray thee speak to mee :
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,

As I gave it to thee/

'Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get,

[Of me shalt nevir win,] so

Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,
And wed me with a ring/

' My bones are buried in a ku'k yard

Afar beyond the sea.
And it is but my sprite, MargTet, S5

That 's speaking now to thee/

She stretched out her lilly-white hand,

As for to do her best :
' Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,

God send your soul good rest/ 40

Now she has kilted her robes of green,

A piece below her knee :
And a' the live-lang winter night

The dead corps followed shoe.

* Is there any room at your head, Willie ? 45

Or any room at your feef?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherem that I may creep?'

* There 's nae room at my head, Margret,

There 's nae room at my feet, so

There 's no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin is made so meet/

SIR JOHN GREUME AND BARBARA ALLAN. 10 7

Then up and crew the red red coclv,

And up then crew the gray :
*Tis thne, tis time, my dear Margret, So

That [I] were gane away/

No more the ghost to Margret said,

But, with a grievous grone,
Evanish'd in a cloud of mist.

And left her all alone. eo

* O stay, my only true love, stay,'

The constant Margret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een,

Stretch'd her saft limbs, and died.

VII.

SIR JOHN GREHME AND BARBARA

ALLAN.

A SCOTTISH BALLAD.
Printed, with a few conjectural emendations, from a written copy.

It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the greene leaves wer a f allan ;

That Sir John Grehme o' the west countryc.
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down throw the towne, 5

To the plaice wher she was dwellan :

* 0 haste and cum to my maister deare.
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan.'

0 hooly, hooly raise she up.

To the plaice wher he was lyan; lu

108 llELIQUES OF ANCIENJ' POETRY.

And whan she drew the curtain by,
* Young- man, I think ye're dyan/ ^

' 0, its I 'm sick, Q.nd very very sick,

And its a' for Barbara Allan/
' 0 the better for me ye'se never be, ig

Though your harts blude wer spillan.

Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,

Whan ye the cups wer fillan ;
How ye made the healths gae round and round.

And slighted Barbara Allan 1' 20

He turn'd his face unto the wa'

And death was with him dealan ;
*Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a'.

Be kind to Barbara Allan/

Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25

And hooly, hooly left him ;
And sighan said, she could not stay.

Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,

AVlian she heard the deid-bell knellan ; 30

And every e jow the deid-bell geid,

Cried * Wae to Barbara Allan!'

' 0 mither, mither, mak my bed,

0 mak it saft and narrow:
Since my love died for me to-day, 35

Ise die for him to-morrowe/

1 An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes ' dyand ' and ' 13'and,' ou^ht to be
transposed ; as the taunt '• Young man, I think ye're lyand,' vvoukl be very
characteristical.

THE bailiff's daughter OF ISLINGTON. lOD

VIII.
THE BAILIFFS DAUGHTEE OF ISLINGTON.

From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with some im-
provements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same reeiteil in her
youth. The full title is, ' True love requited : Or, the BailitFs dauy;hter of
Islington.'

Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant.

There was a youtlie, and a well-beloved youtlie,

And he was a sqiiii'es son :
He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,

That lived m Islington.

Yet she was coye and would not believe 5

That he did love her soe,
Noe, nor at any time would she

Any countenance to him showe.

But when his friendes did understand

His fond and foolish minde, 10

They sent him up to faire London
An apprentice for to binde.

And when he had been seven long yeares,

And never his love could see :
* Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15

When she little thought of mee.'

Then all the maids of Islington

Went forth to sport and playe,
All but the bayliffes daughter deare ;

She secretly stole awaye. 20

She pulled off her gowne of greene,

And put on ragged attire,
And to faire London she would go

Iler true love to enquire.

110 KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETKV.

And as she went along the high road, 25

The weather being liot and drye,
She sat her downe upon a green bank,

And her true love came riding bye.

She started up, with a colour soe redd.

Catching hold of his bridle-reine ; so

' One penny, one penny, kind sir,' she sayd,

* Will ease me of much paine/

' Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,

Praye tell me where you were borne/
' At Islington, kind su',' sayd shee, 35

* Wliere I have had many a scorne/

' I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,

0 tell me, whether you knowe
The baylifFes daughter of Islington.'

' She is dead, sir, long agoe/ 40

* If she be dead, then take my horse,

My saddle and bridle also ;
For I ^Yi\l into some farr countrye.
Where noe man shall me knowe/

' 0 staye, 0 staye, thou goodlye youth, 45

She standeth by thy side ;
She is here alive, she is not dead,

And readye to be thy bride/

* 0, farewell grief e, and welcome joye.

Ten thousand times therefore ; 50

For nowe I have f ounde mine owne true love,
AVliom I thought I should never see more/

THE WILLOW TREE. 1 1 1

IX.

THE WILLOW TP.EE.

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

From tlm small black-lcttcr collection, intitled, ' The Goltlen Garland of
Princely Delights ; ' collated with two other copies, and corrected by conjec-
liu*e.

Willy.
How now, shepherde, what meanes that ?
Why that w^illowe in thy hatl
Wliy thy scarffes of red and yellowe
Tum'd to branches of greene willowe '?

Cuddy.
They are chang'd, and so am I ; 5

Sorrowes live, but pleasures die :
Phillis hath forsaken mee,
Which makes me weare the willow^e-tree.

Willy.
Phillis '? shee that lov'd thee long ?
Is shee the lass hath done thee wrong? 10
Shee that lov'd thee long and best.
Is her love turned to a jest 1

Cuddy.
Shee that long true love profest.
She hath robb'd my heaii of rest :
For she a new love loves, not mee; 15

Which makes me wear the willowc-trcc.

Willy.
Come then, shcplierdc, let us joine,
Since thy happ is like to mine :

1 1 2 UKLIQL'KS OF ANCIENT POETRY.

For the maid I tliou<^]it most true

Mce liatli also bid adieu. 20

Cuddy.

Thy hard happ doth mine appease,
Companye doth sorrowe ease :
Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee,
And still must weare the willowe-trec.

Willy.

Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, 25

Cast off grief and willowe-tree :
For thy grief brings her content.
She is pleas'd if thou lament.

Cuddy.

Herdsman, 1 11 be rul'd by thee.

There lyes grief and willowe-tree ; 30

Henceforth I will do as they.

And love a new love every day.

THE LADY^S FALL,

— is given (with corrections) from the editor's ancient folio MS. collated
with two printed copies in black-letter ; one in the British Museum, the other
in the Pepys collection. Its old title is, ' A lamentable ballad of the Lady's
fall.' To the tune of, ' Li Pescod Time, &c.' — The ballad here reierred to is
preserved in the ' Muses Library,' 8vo, p. 281. It is an allegory or vision,
intitled, ' The Shepherd's Slumber,' and opens with some pretty rural images,
viz.

'In pescod time when hound to horn

Gives eare till buck be kil'd,
And little lads with pipes of corne
Sate keeping beasts a-field.

I went to gather strawberries

By woods and groves full fair, &c '

THE lady's FALL, 113

Marke well my heavy dolcfull talc,

You loyall lovers all,
And liccdfully beare in your brcst,

A gallant ladyes fall.
Long was she wooed, ere shoe was wonne, 5

To lead a wedded life,
But folly wrought her overthrowo

Before shee was a wife.

Too soone, alas! shee gave consent

And yeeldcd to his will, lo

Though he protested to be true.

And faithfidl to her still.
Shee felt her body altered quite,

Her bright hue waxed pale,
Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white, i5

Her strength began to fayle.

Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh.

This beauteous ladye milde.
With greeved hart, perceived herselfe

To have conceived with childe. 20

Shee kept it from her parents sight

As close as close might bee.
And soe put on her silken gowne

None might her swelling see.

Unto her lover secretly 25

Her gTeefe shee did bewray.
And walking with him hand in hand,

These words to him did say;
' Behold,' quoth shee, * a maids distressc

By love brought to thy bo we, 30

Behold I goe with childe by thee,

Tho none thereof doth knowe,

114 RELIQUES OF ANX'IENT POETRY.

The litle babe springs in my wombc

To heare its fathers voyce,
Lett it not be a bastard called, 35

Sith I made thee my choyce :
Come, come, my love, perform thy vowe

And wed me- out of hand;
0 leave me not in this extreme

Of griefe, alas! to stand. 40

Think on thy former promises,

Thy oathes and vowes eche one ;
Remember with what bitter teares

To mee thou madest thy moane.
Convay me to some secrett place, 45

And marry me with speede ;
Or with thy rapyer end my life,

Ere fm^ther shame proceede/

* Alacke ! my beauteous love,' quoth hee,

* My joye, and only dear ; so

"Which way can I convay thee hence.

When dangers are so near?
Thy friends are all of hye degree,

And I of meane estate ;
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe 55

Out of thy fathers gate/

* Dread not thy life to save my fame.

For if thou taken bee,
My selfe will step betweene the swords.

And take the harme on mee : eo

Soe shall I scape dishonor quite;

And if I should be slaine
Wliat could they say, but that true love

Had wrought a ladyes bane ?

THE L^VDY's fall. 115

But fcare not any further harme ; 65

My selfe will soe devise,
Tliat I will ryde away with thee

Unknowen of mortall eyes :
Disguised like some pretty page

He meete thee in the darke, 7o

And all alone He come to thee

Hard by my fathers parke/

* And there/ quoth hee, ' He meete my deare

If God soe lend me life,
On this day month without all fayle 75

I ^vill make thee my wife/
Then with a sweete and loving kisse.

They parted presentlye,
And att their partinge brinish teares

Stoode in eche others eye. so

Att length the wished day was come,

On w^hich this beauteous mayd.
With longing eyes, and strange attire.

For her true lover stayd.
"When any person shoe espyed 85

Come ryding ore the plauie,
She hop'd it was her owne true love :

But all her hopes were vaine.

Then did shoe weepe and sore bewayle

Her most unhappy fate ; do

Then did shee speake these woefull words,
As succourless she sate;

* 0 false, forsworne, and faithlesse man,

Disloyall in thy love.
Hast thou forgott thy promise past, 95

And wilt thou perjured prove '^

11 G RELIQL'KS OF A^TIEXT POETRY.

And hast thou now forsaken mce

In this my groat distrcsse,
To end my dayes in open shame,

AVliich thou mightst well redresse'? lOO

Woe wortli the time I eer believ'd

That flattering tongue of thine :
Wold God that I had never seene

The teares of thy false eyne/

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh, io5

Homewards shoe went againe ;
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes,

Shee felt such privye pame.
In travail strong shee fell that night.

With manye a bitter throw^e ; no

What w^oefull paines shee then did feel,

Doth echo good woman knowe.

Shee called up her waiting mayd,

That lay at her bedds feete.
Who musing at her mistress woe, 115

Began full fast to weepe.

* Weepe not,' said shee, * but shutt the dores,

And windowes round about.
Let none bewray my wretched state,

But keepe all persons out.' 120

* 0 mistress, call your mother deare ;

Of women you have neede,
And of some skilfull midwifes helpe.
That better may you speed/

* Call not my mother for thy life, 125

Nor fetch no woman here ;
The midwifes helpe comes all too late,
My death I doe not feare.'

THE lady's fall. 117

With that the babe sprang from her wonibo

No creature being nye, i3o

And with one sighe, which brake her hart,

This gentle dame did dye.
The lovely litle infant younge,

The mother being dead.
Resigned its new received breath 135

To him that had it made.

Next morning came her own true love,

Affrighted at the newes,
And he for sorrow slew himseKe,

Whom echo one did accuse. no

The mother with her new borne babe,

Were laide both in one grave :
Their parents overworne with woe,

No joy thenceforth cold have.

Take heed, you dayntye damsells all, 145

Of flattering words beware.
And to the honour of your name

Have an especial care.
Too true, alas! this story is.

As many one can tell : 150

By others harmcs Icarne to be wise,

And you shall do full well.

118 IIKUQUES OF ANCJENT POETRY.

XL
WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY.

A SCOTTISH SONG.

This is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from a modem copy.
Some editions instead of the four hist lines in the second stanza have these,
which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed :

•Whan cockle shells turn siller bells,
And muscles grow on every tree,
A^hen frost and snaw sail warm us aw*,
Than sail ray love prove true to me.'

See the ' Orpheus Caledonius,' &c.

Arthur's-seat mentioned in vcr. 1 7, is a hill near Edinburgh ; at the bottom
of which is St. Anthony's well.i

0 WALY, waly up the bank,

And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon bum side.

Where I and my love wer wont to gae.

1 leant my back unto an aik, 5

I thought it was a trusty tree ;
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lichtly me.

O waly, waly, gin love be bonny,

A little time while it is new; lo

But when its auld, it waxeth cauld.

And fades awa' like morning dew.
0 wherfore shuld I busk my head?

Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair 1
For my true love has me forsook, i6

And says he 11 never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed.
The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me :

1 The heroine of this song was Lady Barbara Erskine, daughter of John,
ninth Earl of Mar, and wife of James, second Marquis of Douglas. She was
divorced from her husband, owing to the maUcious insinuations of a rejected
lover. — Ed.

THE bride's burial. 119

Saint Anton's well sail be my drink,

Since my true love has forsaken me. 20

Maiii'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aif the tree 1

0 gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?
For of my life 1 am wearie.

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 25

Nor blawing snaws inclemencie ;
Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,

But my loves heart grown cauld to me.
AVlian we came m by Glasgowe town.

We were a comely sight to see, 30

My love was cled in black velvet.

And I my sell m cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kisst.
That love had been sae ill to win;

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 35

And pinnd it with a siller pin.
And, oh! if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurses knee.
And I my sell were dead and gane!

For a maid again Ise never be. 40

XII.
THE BRIDFS BURIAL.

From two ancient copies in black-letter : one in tlie Pepys Collection ; tiic
other in the British Museum.

To the tune of ' The Lady's Fall.'

Come mourne, come mourne with mee.

You loyall lovers all ;
Lament my loss in weeds of woe,

Whom griping grief doth tlirall.

120 IlELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Like to the drooping vino, 5

Cut by the gardener's knife,
Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine,

Doth bleed for my sweet wife.

By death, that grislyo ghost.

My turtle dove is slaine, lo

And I am left, unhappy man,

To spend my dayes in paine.

Her beauty, late so bright.

Like roses in their prime.
Is wasted like the mountain snowe, i5

Before warme Phebus' sliine.

Her faire red colom-'d cheeks

Now pale and wan ; her eyes.
That late did shine like crystal stars,

Alas, their light it dies : 20

Her prettye lilly hands,

With fingers long and small.
In colour like the earthly claye.

Yea, cold and stiff withall.

When as the morning-star 25

Her golden gates had spred.
And that the glittering sun arose

Forth from fan Thetis' bed;

Then did my love awake.

Most like a lilly-flower, 30

And as the lovely queene of heaven.

So shone shee in her bower.

THE bride's burial. 121

Attired was sliee tlicn

Like Flora in her pride,
Lilce one of bright Diana's nymplis, 35

So look'd my loving bride.

And as fair Helens face,

Did Grecian dames besmirclie,
So did my dear exceed in sight.

All vh'gins in the chm'ch. 40

^Vllen we had knitt the knott

Of holy wedlock-band,
Like alabaster joyn'd to jett.

So stood we hand in hand;

Then lo! a chilling cold 45

Stmcke every vital part.
And griping grief, like pangs of death,

Seiz'd on my true love's heart.

Down in a swoon she fell.

As cold as any stone ; 50

Like Venus pictm'e lacldng life.

So was my love brought homo.

At length her rosye red.

Throughout her comely face.
As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes 55

Was cover'd for a space.

Wlien with a grievous groane.
And voice both hoarse and drye,

* Farewell,' quoth she, ' my loving friend,
For I this daye must dye ; go

122 llELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

The messenger of God,

With golden trumpe I see,
With manyo other angels more,

Wliich sound and call for mec.

Instead of musicke sweet, 65

Go toll my passing-bell ;
And with sweet flowers strow my grave,

That in my chamber smell.

Strip off my bride's arraye.

My cork shoes from my feet ; 70

And, gentle mother, be not coye

To bring my winding-sheet.

My wedding dinner drest,

Bestowe upon the poor,
And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 75

Now craving at the door.

Instead of virgins yong.

My bride-bed for to see,
Go cause some cunning carpenter.

To make a chest for mee. so

My bride laces of silk

Bestowd, for maidens meet.
May fitly serve, when I am dead.

To tye my hands and feet.

And thou, my lover true, 85

My husband and my friend,
Let me intreat thee here to staye.

Until mv hfe doth end.

THE BRIDES BURIAL. 12:>

Now leave to talk of love,

And liiimblyc on your knee, oo

Direct your prayers unto God :

But mom*n no more for mee.

In love as we have livde,

In love let us depart ;
And I, in token of my love, 95

Do kiss thee with my heart.

0 staunch those bootless tearcs,
Thy weeping tis in vaine;

1 am not lost, for wee in heaven

ShaU one daye meet againe ' 100

With that shee turn'd aside,

As one disposed to sleep,
And like a lamb departed Ufe ;

Whose friends did sorely weep.

Her true love seeing this, 105

Did fetch a grievous groane,
As tho' his heart would burst in twainc,

And thus he made his moane.

* 0 darke and dismal daye,

A daye of grief and care, 110

That hath bereft the sun so bright.

Whose beams refresht the air.

Now woe unto the world.

And all that therein dwell,
0 that I were with thee in heaven, 115

For here I live in hell/

134 KKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And now this lover lives

A discontented life.
Whose bride was brought unto the grave

A maiden and a wife. 120

A garland fresh and faire

Of lillies there was made,
In sigTi of her virginitye,

And on her coffin laid.

Six maidens, all in white, ' 125

Did beare her to the ground :
The bells did ring in solemn soii.

And made a dolefull sound.

In earth they laid her then.

For hungry wormes a preye; 130

So shall the fairest face alive

At length be brought to claye.

XIII.

DULCINA.

Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys Collection ;
the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not found
in the other. What seemed the best readings were selected from both.

This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's Complete Angler, chap. 2.
It is more ancient than the ballad of ' llobin Good-Fellow ' printed below,
which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben. Jonsou.

As at noone Dulcina rested

In her sweete and shady bower ;

Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lapp to sleepe an hour.

DULCINA. 125

But from her lookc 5

A woimdc lie tookc
Soo deepe, that for a further boono

The nymph he prayes.

Wherto shee sayes,
* Forgoe me now, come to me soone.' lo

But in vayne shee did conjure him

To depart her presence soe ;
Having a thousand tongues to aUure him,
And but one to bid him goe :

Where lipps invite, is

And eyes delight.
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June,

Persuade delay ;

What boots, she say,
'Forgoe me now, come to me sooner 20

He demands, * What time for pleasure

Can there be more fit than now V
She sayes, * Night gives love that leysure.
Which the day can not allow/

He sayes, * The sight 25

Improves delight/
Wliich she denies : ' Nights mkkic noone

In Venus' playes

Makes bold/ shee sayes;
' Forgoe me now, come to mee soone/ 30

But what promise or profession

From his hands could purchase scope?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of suche beauty e for a hopel

Or for the sight 36

Of lingering night

126 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Forgoc the present joyos of nooncl
Though ne'er soe fairo
Her speeches were,

* Forgoo me now, come to me soone/ 40

How, at last, agreed these lovers'?

Shoe was fayre, and he was young ;
The tong-ue may tell what th' eye discovers ;
Joyes unseene are never sung.

Did shoe consent, 46

Or he relent 1
Accepts he night, or grants shoe noone?
Left he her a mayd,
Or notl she sayd

* Forgoe me now, come to me soone/ 6o

XIV.

THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection,
collated with another in the British Museum, H, 263. folio. It is there
intitled, ' The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty : being
a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed on the body of the
lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble duke, &c. To the tune of, The
Lady's Fall.' To some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, in-
titled, ' The Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation.'

There was a lord of worthy fame.

And a hunting he would ride,
Attended by a noble traine

Of gentrye by his side.

And while he did in chase remaine, 5

To see both sport and playe ;
His ladye went, as she did feigne.

Unto the church to praye.

THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. 127

Tliis lord lie had a daughter deare,

Whose beauty shone so bright, lo

She was belov'd, both far and neare,

Of many a lord and knight.

Fair Isabella was she caird,

A creatui'e fake was shee ;
She was her fathers only joye; 15

As you shall after see.

Therefore her cruel step-mother

Did envye her so much,
That daye by daye she sought her life.

Her malice it was such. 20

She bargained with the master-cook,

To take her life awaye :
And taking of her daughters book,

She thus to her did saye.

' Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 26

Go hasten presentlie ;
And tell unto the master-cook

These wordes that I tell thee.

And bid him dresse to dinner streight

That faire and milk-white doe, so

That in the parke doth shine so bright.
There 's none so faire to showe.'

This ladye fearing of no haiTQC,

Obey'd her mothers will ;
And presentlye she hasted home, 86

Her pleasure to fulfill.

128 RELIQUES OP ANCIENT POETRY.

Slic strciglit into the kitclicn went,

Her messcago for to tell ;
And there she spied the master-cook,

Who did with malice swell. * 4o

* Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe.

Do that which I thee tell :
You needes must dresse the milk-white doe.
Which you do knowe full well.'

Then streight his cruell bloodye hands, 45

He Oil the ladye layd;
Wlio quivering and shaking stands.

While thus to her he sayd :

* Thou art the doe, that I must dresse ;

See here, behold my knife ; 5o

For it is pointed presently
To ridd thee of thy life/

* 0 then,' cried out the scullion-boye.

As loud as loud might bee ;

* 0 save her life, good master-cook, 65

And make your pyes of mee !

For pityes sake do not destroye

My ladye with your knife ;
You know shoe is her father's joye.

For Christes sake save her life.' eo

* I will not save her life,' he sayd,

' Nor make my pyes of thee ;
Yet if thou dost this deed bewTaye,
Thy butcher I will bee.'

THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. l'2i)

Now when this lord lie did come home 65

For to sit downc and eat ;
lie called for his daughter deare,

To come and carve his meat.

* Now sit you downe/ his ladye said,

' 0 sit you downe to meat ; 70

Into some nunnery she is gone ;
Your daughter deare forget.'

Then solemnlye he made a vowe,

Before the companie :
That he would neither eat nor drinke, 76

Until he did her see.

0 then bespake the scullion-boye.
With a loude voice so hye ;

* If now you ^vill your daughter see,

My lord, cut up that pye : 80

Wherein her fieshe is minced small.

And parched with the fire ;
All caused by her step-mother.

Who did her death desire.

And cursed bee the master-cook, 86

0 cursed may he bee!

1 proffered him my own hearts blood.

From death to set her free.'

Then all in blacke this lord did mourne;

And for his daughters sake, 90

He judged her cruel step-mother

To be burnt at a stake.

VOL. TIT. I

liU) KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Likewise ho judg'd tlio master-cook

In boiling lead to stand ;
And made the simple scullion-boy o 95

The heire of all his land.

XV.

A HUE AND CEY AFTER CUPID.

This song is a kind of translation of a pretty poem of Tasso's, called Amoj'e
fuf/gitivo^ generally printed with his Aminta^ and originally imitated from the
first Idylliiim of Moschiis.

It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of lord viscount
Iladington, on Slirove-Tuesday 1608. One stanza full of dry mythology is
here omitted, as it had been dropt in a copy of this song printed in a small
volume called ' Le Prince d'amour. Lond. 16G0,' 8vo.

Beauties, have yee seen a toy,

Called Love, a little boy,

Almost naked, wanton, blinde ;

Cruel now; and then as kinde?

If he be amongst yee, say ; 6

He is Venus' runaway.

Shee, that will but now discover

Where the winged wag doth hover,

Shall to-night receive a Idsse,

How and where herself e would wish : lo

But who brings him to his mother

Shall have that kisse, and another.

Markes he hath about him plentie ;

You may know him among twentie :

All his body is a fire, 15

And his breath a flame entire :

Which, being shot, like hghtning, in,

Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 131

Wings lie hath, wliich though ycc clip,

He will Icape from lip to lip, 20

Over liver, lights, and heart;

Yet not stay ui any part.

And, if chance his arrow misses.

He will shoote himselfe in kisses.

He doth beare a golden bow, 25

And a quiver hanging low.

Full of arrowes, which outbrave

Dian's shafts; where, if he have

Any head more sharpe than other,

With that first he strikes his mother. 30

Still the fairest are his fuell,

When his daies are to be cruell ;

Lovers hearts are all his food.

And his baths their warmest bloud :

Nought but wounds his hand doth season, 35

And he hates none like to Keason.

Tnist him not : liis words, though sweet,

Seldome with his heart doe meet :

AU his practice is deceit ;

Everie gift is but a bait ; 40

Not a kisse but poyson beares ;

And most treason 's in his teares.

Idle minutes are his raigne ;

Then the straggler makes his gainc.

By presenting maids with toyes 45

And would have yee thinke 'em joyes ;

Tis the ambition of the clfe

To have all childish as himselfe.

132 RKLIQUES OF ANTIENT POETKV.

If by these yee please to know liiin,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 60

Though yee had a will to hide him.
Now, we hope, yee' le not abide him
Since yee heare this falser's play.
And that he is Venus' runaway.

XVI.
THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER.

Tlie story of this ballad seems to be taken from an incident in the domestic
history of Charles the Bald, king of France. His daughter Judith was be-
trothed to Ethehvnulph king of England : but before the marriage was consum-
mated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to France : wlience she was carried
off b}' Baldwyn, Forester of Flanders ; who, after many crosses and difficulties,
at length obtained the king's consent to their marriage, and was made Earl
of Flanders. This happened about A.D. 8G3. — See Rapin, Henault, and the
French Historians.

The following copy is given from the Editor's ancient folio MS. collated with
another in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, intltled, ' An excellent Ballad
of a prince of England's courtship to the king of France's Daughter, &c. To
the tune of Crimson Velvet.'

Many breaches having been made in this old song by the hand of tim.e,
principally (as might be expected) in the quick returns of the rhyme, an
attempt is here made to repair them.

In the dayes of old,

When faire France did flourisli,
Storyes plaine have told,

Lovers felt annoye.
The queene a daughter bare, 6

Whom beautye's queene did nourish:
She was lovelye faire

She was her fathers jo^^e.
A prince of England came,
\ATiose deeds did merit fame, 10

But he was exiFd, and outcast :
Love his soul did fire,

THE KING OF FKANX'e's DAUGHTEll. 133

Sliee granted his desii'c,

Tlieb* hearts in one were linked fast.
Which when her father proved, is

Sorelye he was moved,

And tormented in his minde.
He sought for to prevent them ;
And, to discontent them,

Fortune cross'd these lovers kinde. 20

When these princes twaine

Were thus barr'd of pleasure.
Through the kinges disdaine.

Which their joyes mthstoode :
The lady soone prepar'd 25

Her Jewells and her treasure ;
Having no regard

For state and royall bloode ;
In homelye poore array
She went from court away, 30

To meet her joye and hearts delight;
AYho in a forrest great
Had taken up his seat.

To wayt her coming in the night.
But, lo! what sudden danger 35

To this princely stranger

Chanced, as he sate alone!
By outlawes he was robbed.
And with ponyards stabbed,

Uttering many a dying grone. 4o

The princesse, arm'd by love.

And by chaste desire,
All the night did rove

Without dread at all :

134 HELlQLEii OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Still iiiiknowne she past 45

111 her strange attire ;
Coming at the last

Within echoes call, —

* You faire woods/ quoth slice,

* Honoured may you bee, 50

Harboimng my hearts delight;
Which encompass here
My joye and only deare,

My trustye friend, and comelye
knight.
Sweete, I come unto thee, 65

Sweete, I come to woo thee ;

That thou mayst not angry bee
For my long delaying ;
For thy curteous staying

Soone amendes He make to thee.' 60

Passing thus alone

Through the silent forest.
Many a grievous grone

Sounded in her eares :
She heard one complayne 65

And lament the sorest,
Seeming all in pa^ne,

Shedding deadly teares.

* Farewell, my deare,' quoth hee,

* Whom I must never see ; 70

For why, my life is att an end.
Through villaines crueltye :
For thy sweet sake I dye.

To show I am a faithfull friend.
Here I lye a bleeding, 75

While my thoughts are feeding

THE KING OF FRANCE's DAUGllTEll. 135

On the rarest beauty e found.
O liard happ, that may be!
Little knowes my ladye

My heartes blood lyes on the gTOund/ 8o

With that a grone he sends

Wliich did burst in sunder
All the tender bands

Of his gentle heart.
She, who knewe his voice, 85

At his wordes did wonder ;
All her former joyes

Did to griefe convert.
Strait she ran to see.
Who this man shold bee, 90

That soe like her love did seeme ;
Her lovely lord she found
Lye slaine upon the gTOund,

Smear d with gore a ghastlye streame.
Which his lady spying, 96

Shrieking, fainting, crying.

Her sorrows could not uttered bee ;
* Fate,' she cryed, * too cruell ;
For thee — my dearest Jewell,

Would God! that I had dyed for thee.' loo

His pale lippes, alas!

Twentye times she kissed.
And his face did wash

With her trickling teares :
Every gaping wound 106

Tenderlye she pressed,
And did wipe it round

With her golden haires.

13G UELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRV.

* Spcake, fairo love/ quoth shoe,

*Speake, faire prince, to mee, no

One sweete word of comfort give :
Lift up thy deare eyes.
Listen to my cryes,

Thinke in what sad grief e I live/
All ill vaine she sued, u^

All in vaine she wooed.

The prince's life was fled and gone.
There stood she still mourning.
Till the suns retourning,

And bright day was coming on. i2u

In this great distresse

Weeping, wayling ever.
Oft shoe cryed, * Alas !

What will become of mee?
To my fathers court 125

I returne will never:
But in lowlye sort

I will a servant bee.'
While thus she made her mone,
Weeping all alone, 130

In this deepe and deadlye feare ;
A for'ster all in greene,
Most comelye to be scene.

Ranging the woods did find her there.
Moved with her sorrowe, 135

* Maid,' quoth hee, * good morrowe.

What hard happ has brought thee
here 1 '

* Harder happ did never
Two kinde hearts dissever :

Here lyes slaine my brother deare. 140

THE KING OF FRANCE'S DAUGHTER. 137

Wliere may I remaiue,

Gentle foi-'ster, sliew me,
Till I can obtaine

A service in my neede?
Paines I will not spare : 146

This kinde favour doe me,
It will ease my care ;

Heaven sliall be tliy meede/
The for'ster all amazed,
On her beauty e gazed, i5o

Till his heart was set on fire.

* If, faire maid,' quoth liee,

* You wdU goe with mee,

You shall have your hearts desire.'
He brought her to his mother, 155

And above all other

He sett forth this maidens praise.
Long was liis heart inflamed.
At length her love he gained,

And fortune crown'd his future dayes. leo

Thus unknowne he wedde

With a kings faire daughter ;
Cliildren seven they had,

Ere she told her birth.
Wliich when once he knew, 165

Humblye he besought her.
He to the world might shew

Her rank and princelye worth.
He cloath'd his children then,
(Not like other men) 170

In pai*tye-colours strange to see ;
llie right side cloth of gold,
The left side to behold,

138 KELIQUES OF A^'CIK^T POETRY.

Of woollen cloth still framed liec. ^
Men tliereatt did wonder; 175

Golden fame did thunder

This strange deede in every place :
The king of France came thither,
It being pleasant weather,

In those woods the hart to chase. I80

The children then they bring.

So their mother wiird it,
Where the royall king

Must of force come bye :
Then* mothers riche array i85

Was of crimson velvet :
Their fathers all of gray,

Seemelye to the eye.
Then this famous king.
Noting every thing, 190

Askt how he durst be so bold
To let his wife soe weare,
And decke his children there

In costly robes of pearl and gold.
The forrester replying, 195

And the cause descrying,^

To the king these words did say,
* Well may they, by their mother,
Weare rich clothes with other,

Bemg by bulh a princesse gay.' 200

1 This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Brandon,
a private gentleman, who mamed the Queen Dowager of France, sister of
Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the trappings of
his horse were half cloth of gold, and half frieze, with the following Motto:

' Cloth of Gold, do not despise,
Tho' thon art matcht with Cloth of Frize;
Cloth of Frize, be not too bold,
Tho' thou art matcht with Cloth of Gold.'

See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. III. p. 356. — ^ i.e. describing. See Gloss.

THE SWEET NEGLECT. 139

The Idng aroused thus,

More heedfullye beheld them,
Till a crimson blush

His remembrance crost.

* The more I fix my mind '205

On thy wife and childi^en,
The more methinks I find

The daughter which I lost/
Falling on her knee,

* I am that child,' quoth shoe; 210

* Pardon mee, my soveraine liege/
The king perceiving this,
His daughter deare did Idss,

While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche.
With his traine he tourned, 215

And with them sojourned.

Strait he dubb'd her husband knight ;
Then made hun erle of Flanders,
And chief e of his commanders :

Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 220

XVII.
THE SWEET NEGLECT.

TI113 little Madrigal (extracted from Ben Jonson's Silent Woman, Act 1.
Sc. 1. first acted in 1G09,) is in imitation of a Latin poem printed at the end
of the Variorum Edit, of Petronius, beginning, ' Semper munditias, semper
Basilissa, decoras, &c.' See Whalley's Ben Jonson, vol. II. p. 420.

Still to be neat, still to be drest,

As you were going to a feast :

Still to be pou'dred, still perfum'd:

Lady, it is to be presumed,

Though art's hid causes are not found, 5

All is not sweet, all is not sound.

1 40 KELIQL'ES OF ANCIENT I'OETUV.

Give me a looke, give me a face,

That makes simplicitie a grace ;

Ilobes loosely flowing, hairc as free :

Such sweet neglect more taketh me, lo

Than all tli' adulteries of art.

That strike mine eyes, but not my licail.

XVIII.
THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

The subject of this very popular ballad (which has been set in so favourable
a liglit by the Spectator, No. 85.) seems to be taken from an old play, intiiled,
^ Two lamentable Tragedies ; The one of the murder of Maister Beech, a
chandler iu Thames- streete, &c. The other of a young child murthercd in a
•wood by two ruffius, with the consent of his unkle. By Rob. Yarrint^ton,
1601, 4to.' Our ballad-maker has strictly followed tiie play iu the description
of the father and mother's dying charge : iu the uncle's promise to take care
of their issue : his hiring two ruffians to destroy his ward, under pretence of
sending him to school : their chusing a wood to perpetrate the murder in : one
of the ruffians relenting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In other respects, he has
departed from the play. In the latter the scene is laid in Padua : there is but
one child : which is murdered by a sudden stab of the unrelenting ruffian : he
is slain himself by his less bloody companion ; but ere he dies gives the other
a mortal wound : the latter living just long enough to impeach the uncle ;
who, in consequence of this impeachment, is arraigned and executed by the
hand of justice, &c. Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will have
no doubt but the former is the original : the language is far more obsolete,
and such a vein of simpUcity runs through the whole performance, that, had
tiie ballad been written first, there is no doubt but every circumstance of it
would have been received into the drama : whereas this was probably built
on some Italian novel.

Printed from two ancient copies, one of them in black-letter in the Pepys
Collection. It's title at lai-ge is, ' The Children in the Wood : or, the Norfolk
Gentleman's Last Will and Testament : To the tune of Rogero, &c.' '

Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes, w^hich I shall write ;

A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.

• Some antiquaries find an earlier date for this ballad (1595). Sharon
Turner conjectures it to have been written with a secret reference to Richard
111. and his nephews. — Ed.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 141

A gentleman of good account 6

In Norfolke dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount

Most men of his estate.

Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,

No helpe his life could save ; lo

His wife by him as sicke did lye.

And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,

Each was to other kinde.
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, i5

And left two babes behinde :

The one a fine and pretty boy.

Not passing three yeares olde ;
The other a girl more young than he,

And fram'd in beautyes molde. 20

The father left his little son,

As plainlye doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come.

Three hundi^ed poundes a yeare.

And to his little daughter Jane 25

Five hundred poundes in gold,
To be paid downe on maniage-day,

Which might not be controll'd :
But if the children chance to dye.

Ere they to age should come, so

Tlicir uncle should possesse their wealth ;

For so the wille did run.

* Now, brother,' said the dying man,
* Look to my cliildren deare;

142 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Bo good unto my boy and girl, 35

No friendes else have they here :
To God and you I recommend

My children deare this daye ;
But little while be sure we have

Within this world to staye. io

You must be father and mother both.

And uncle all in one :
God knowes what will become of them,

When I am dead and gone/
With that bespake their mother deare, 45

* 0 brother kinde,' quoth shoe,
*You are the man must bring our
babes "

To wealth or miserie :

And if you keep them carefully.

Then God will you reward ; so

But if you otherwise should deal,

God will your deedes regard.'
With lippes as cold as any stone,

They kist their children small :

* God bless you both, my children deare ; ' 55

With that the teares did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake
To this sicke couple there,

* The keeping of your little ones

Sweet sister, do not feare : eo

God never prosper me nor mine.

Nor aught else that I have.
If I do wrong your childi*en deare,

When you are layd in grave.'

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 143

Tlie parents being dead and gone, 66

The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite mito his house,

Where much of them he makes.
lie had not kept these pretty babes

A twelvemonth and a daye, 7o

But, for their wealth, he did devise

To make them both awaye.

He bargained with two ruffians strong,

Wliich were of furious mood,
Tliat they should take these children young, 75

And slaye them in a wood.
He told his Avife an artful tale.

He would the children send
To be brought up in faire London,

With one that was his friend. so

Away then went those pretty babes,

Rej eyeing at that tide,
Rej eyeing with a merry minde.

They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly, 85

As they rode on the waye.
To those that should their butchers be,

And work their lives decaye :

So that the pretty speeche they had.

Made Murder's heart relent; 90

And they that undertooke the deed.

Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,

Did vowc to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him, 95

Had paid him very large.

144 ItELlQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Tlic other won't agree thereto,

So here they fall to strife ;
Witli one another they did fight,

About the childrens life : loo

And he that was of mildest mood,

Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;

Tlie babes did quake for f eare !

He took the children by the hand, los

Teares standing in their eye,
And bade them straitwaye follow him,

And look they did not crye :
And two long miles he ledd them on,

While they for food complaine: no

' Staye here,' quoth he, ' 1 11 bring you bread,

Wlien I come backe againe.'

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,

Went wandering up and downs;
But never more could see the man 115

Approaching from the town :
Their prettye lippes with black-berries,

Were all besmear'd and dyed.
And when they sawe the darksome night,

They sat them downe and cryed. 120

Thus wandered these poor innocents.

Till deathe did end their grief.
In one anothers armes they dyed.

As wanting due relief ;
No burial [this] pretty [pair] 125

Of any man receives,

Ver. 125, these . . babes, P.P.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. 1-15

Till Eobin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrathe of God

Upon their uncle fell ; 130

Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house.

His conscience felt an hell:
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,

His landes were barren made.
His cattle dyed within the field, 135

And nothing with him stayd.

And in a voyage to Portugal

Two of his sonnes did dye ;
And to conclude, himselfe was brought

To want and miserye : 140

He pawned and mortgaged all his land

Ere seven yeares came about.
And now at length this wicked act

Did by this meanes come out :

The fellowe, that did take in hand 146

These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judged to dye.

Such was God's blessed will :
Who did confess the very truth.

As here hath been displayed : I60

Their uncle having dyed in gaol,

Where he for debt was layd.

You that executors be made,

And overseers eke
Of children that be fatherless, 155

And infants mild and meek ;

VOL. III. K

14G REUQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Take you example by this thing,

And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miscrye

Your wicked minds requite. ico

XIX.
A LOVER OF LATE.

Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the Editor's folio MS.

A Lover of late was I,

For Cupid would have it soe,
The boy that hath never an eye,
As every man doth know :
I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas! 6

For her that laught, and called me ass.

Then knew not I what to doe,

When I saw itt was in vaine
A lady soe coy to wooe,

Who gave me the asse soe plaine: lo
Yet would I her asse freelye bee,
Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee.

An' I were as faire as shee.

Or shee were as kind as I,
What payre cold have made, as wee, i5
Soe prettye a sympathye:
I was as kind as shee was faire,
But for all this wee cold not paire.

Paire with her that will for mee.

With her I will never paire ; 20

Ver. 13, faine, MS.

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 147

That ciiniiingiy can be coy,
For being a little faire.
The asse lie leave to her disdaine;
And now I am mysclfe againe.

XX.
THE KING AND MILLEE OF MANSFIELD.

It has been a favourite subject with our English ballad-makers to represent
our kings conversing, either by accident or desig'n, with the meanest of tlieir
subjects. Of the former kind, besides this song of ' The King and the Miller,'
we have ' K. Henry and the Soldier ; ' ' K. James L and the Tinker ; ' K.
"William III. and the Forrester,' &c. Of the latter sort, are ' K. Alfred and
the Shepherd ; ' ' K. Edward IV. and the Tanner ; ' ' K. Henry VIII. and the

Cobler,' &c. A few of the best of these are admitted into this collection.

Both the author of the follownng ballad, and others who have written on the
same plan, seem to have copied a very ancient poem, intitled ' John the
Reeve,' which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened be-
tween K. Edward Longshanks, and one of his Reeves or Bailiffs. This is a
piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of Edward IV. and for
its genuine humour, diverting incidents, and faithful picture of rustic manners,
is infinitely superior to all that have been since written in imitation of it. The
Editor has a copy in his ancient folio MS. but its length rendered it improper
for this volume, it consisting of more than 900 lines. It contains also some
cormptions, and the Editor chooses to defer its publication in hopes that some
time or other he shall be able to remove them.

The following is printed, with corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. col-
lated with an old black-letter copy in the Pcpjs Collection, intitled ' A plea-
sant baUad of K. Hemy II. and the Miller of Mansfield, &c.'

PART THE FIRST.

Henry, our royall king, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire ;

To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping :
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire :

Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd 5

For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king plcasantlye.
With all his princes and nobles echo one;

148 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Cliasiiig the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlyo,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home. lo
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in tlie night

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and do^vne,

With a rude miller he mett at the last :
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham ; 15

* Sir,' quoth the miller, * I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say.
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.'

* Why, what dost thou think of me,' quoth our king

merrily,

* Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe'?' 20
' Good faith,' sayd the miller, ' I meane not to flatter

thee;
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thief e ;
Stand thee backe, in the darke ; light not adovrne,
Lest that I presentlye cracke thy knaves crowne.'

'Thou dost abuse me much,' quoth the king, 'saying
thus ; 25

I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke.'

* Thou hast not,' quoth th' miller, * one groat m thy

purse ;
All thy inheritance hangos on thy backe.'
^ ' I have gold to discharge all that I call ;
If it be forty pence, I will pay all.' 30

' If thou beest a true man,' then quoth the miller,
*I sweare by my toll-dish I'll lodge thee all
night.'

^ The king says this.

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANtiFlELD. 149

* Here 's my hand/ quoth the king, * that was I ever/

*Nay, soft/ quoth the miller, *tliou may'st be a
sprite.
Better 1 11 know thee, ere hands we will shake ; 35
With none but honest men hands will I take/

Thus they went all along unto the millers house ;

Where they were seething of puddings and souse :
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king ;

Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. 40

* Now,' quoth hee, * let me see here what you are.'
Quoth om^ king, ' looke your fill, and doe not spare.'

* I like well thy coimtenance, thou hast an honest face ;

With my son Richard this night thou shalt lye.'
Quoth his wife, *by my troth, it is a handsome
youth, 45

Yet it 's best, husband, to deal warilye.
Art thou no run away, pry thee, youth, tell ?
Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well.'

Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye.
With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say ; 50

* I have no passport, nor never was ser\dtor.

But a poor courtyer, rode out of my way :
And for your kindness here offered to mee,
I will requite you in everye degree.'

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 65
Saying, * It seemeth, this youth 's of good kin,

Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners ;
To turne him out, certainlye, were a great sin.'

* Yea,' quoth hee, * you may see, he hath some grace
When he doth spcake to his betters in place.' 60

150 RELIQUES OF A^'C1ENT rOETKY.

*Well,' quo' the millers wife, *yoimg man, ye*re wel-
come hero ;

And, though I say it, well lodged shall be :
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave.

And good brown hempen sheets likewise,' quoth shee.

* Aye,' quoth the good man ; * and when that is done, 65
Thou shalt lye with no worse than our own sonne/

* Nay, first,' quoth Ilichard, * good-fellowe, tell me tme,

Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose 1
Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado?'

* I pray,' quoth the king, * what creatures are those T

* Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby'?' quoth he: n

* If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.'

This caus'd the Idng, suddenlye, to laugh most
heartilye.

Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes.
Then to their supper were they set orderly e, 75

With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes ;
Nappy ale, good and stale, in a browne bowle,
Wliich did about the board merrilye trowle.

* Here,' quoth the miller, * good fellowe, I diinke to

thee, ^

And to all [cuckholds, wherever they bee.]' so

* I pledge thee,' quotth our king, * and thanke thee

heartilye
For my good welcome in everye degree :
And here, in like manner, I di^mke to thy sonne.'
' Do then,' quoth Pvichard, ' and quicke let it come.'

* Wife', quoth the miller, ' fetch me forth lightfoote, 85

And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste.'

Ver. 80, courtnalls, that courteous be, MS. and P.

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 151

*_. faire ven'son pastye brouglit she out prescntljc.

* Eate/ quoth the miller, ' but, sir, make no waste/

* Here's dainty lightfoote ! In faith,' sayd the king,

* I never before eat so daintye a thing/ 90

* I wis,' quoth Richard * no daintye at all it is.

For we doe eate of it everye day/

* In what place,' said our king * may be bought like to

thisr

* We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay :

From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here ; 95

Now and then we make bold with our kings deer/

' Then I thinke,' sayd our king, * that it is venison/

* Echo f oole,' quoth Kichard, ' full well may know

that :
Never are wee without two or three in the roof,

Very well fleshed, and excellent f at : 100

Jut, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe ;
We would not, for two pence, the king should it
knowe/

Doubt not,' then sayd the king, ' my promist secresye ;

The king shall never know more on't for nice/
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then, 105

And to their bedds they past presentlie.
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down,
For to seeke out the kmg in everye towne.

At last, at the millers [cott,] soone they espy'd him out.
As he was mounting upon his faire steede, no

To whom they came presently, falling down on then*
knee ;
Which made the millers heart wofuUy bleede ;

152 KELIQUES OF ANCIENT rOETRY.

Slialdng* and quaking, before liim he stood,
Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood.

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, ii5

Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed :

The miller downe did fall, crying before tliem all,
Doubting the king would have cut off his head.

But he his kind courtesye for to requite.

Gave hun great living, and dubb'd him a knight. 120

PART THE SECONDE.

When as our royall Idng came home from Xotting-
ham,

And with his nobles at Westminster lay;
Recounting the sports and pastimes they had taken.

In this late progress along on the way ;
Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 6

The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best.

*And now, my lords,' quoth the king, *I am deter-
mined

Against St. Georges next sumptuous feast,
That this old miller, our new confirmed knight.

With his son Richard, shall here be my guest : 10
For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire.'

When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness.
They were right joyful! and glad in theu^ hearts :

A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the busi-
ness, 15
The which had often-times been in those partfe.

When he came to the place, where they did dwell,

His message orderlye then 'gan he tell.

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. 153

* God save your worsliippc/ then said the messenger,

* And grant your ladye her own hearts desire ; 20
And to your sonne Kichard good fortune and happi-
ness;

That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire.
Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say,
You must come to the com't on St George's day ;

Therfore, in any case, faile not to be in place.' 25

* I wis,' quoth the miller, *this is an odd jest:
^Miat should we doe there'? faith, I am halfe afraid,'

* I doubt,' quoth Kichard, * to be hang'd at the least.'

* Nay,' quoth the messenger, * you doe mistake ;

Cm' king he provides a gTeat feast for your sake.' 30

Then sayd the miller, ' By my troth, messenger.
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well.

Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness,
For these happy tydings, which thou dost tell.

Let me see, hear thou mee ; tell to our king, 35

We '11 wayt on his mastershipp in everye thing.'

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye.
And, making many leggs, tooke their reward;

And his leave taking with great humilitye

To the kings court againe he repair 'd; 40

Shewing unto his grace, merry and free.

The knightes most liberall gift and bountie.

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say,

* Here come expenses and charges indeed ;

Now must we needs be brave, tho' we spend all we
have ; 45

For of new garments we have great need :

154 KELIQUES OF ANCIENT rOETUY.

Of horses and servini^-mcn we must have store,
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more/

* Tuslie, sir John,' quoth his wife, * why should you

frett, or frowne'?

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee ; 5o

For I will turne and trim up my old russet go\\Tie,

With everye thing else as fine as may bee ;
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride.
With piUowes and pannells, as we shall provide/

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court, 65
Their joUy sonne Eichard rode foremost of all ;

Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap.
And so they jetted downe to the kuigs hall;

The merry old miUer with hands on his side;

His wife, like maid Marian, did mince at that tide, eo

Tlie king and his nobles that heard of their coming,
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave train e;

' AVelcome, sir knight,' quoth he, ' mth your gay lady :
Good sir John Cockle, once welcome againe :

And so is the squire of courage soe free/ 65

Quoth Dicke, * A bots on you! do you Imow mee'?'

Quoth our king gentlye, ' how should I forget thee V
That wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot/

* Yea, sir,' quoth Richard, * and by the same token,

Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot/ 7o
Thou whore-son unhappy knave,' then quoth the
knight,

* Speake cleanly to our king, or else go sk"'''''"/

Ver. 57, ' for good hap : ' i.e. for good luck ; they were going on an hazard-
ous expedition. — Ver. 60, Maid Marian in the Morris dance, was represented
by a man in woman's clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain
the female character.

THE KING AND MILLER OF MANSFIELD. IjJ

Tlie king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily,
\Vliile the king taketh them both by the hand ;

With the coiu't-dames, and maids, Hke to the queen of
spades 76

The millers wife did soe orderly stand.

A milk-maids courtesye at every word;

And downe all the folkes were set to the board.

There the king royally, in princely majesty e,

Sate at his dinner with joy and delight; so

\Mien they had eaten well, then he to jesting
fell.
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight :

* Here 's to you both, in wine, ale and beer ;

Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer.'

Quoth sir John Cockle, ' I '11 pledge you a pottle, 85
Were it the best ale in Nottinghamsliire:'

But then said our king, * now I think of a thing ;
Some of your lightfoote I would we had here.'

' Ho ! ho ! ' quoth Kichard, ' full well I may say it,

'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it.' 9o

*Wliy art thou angry?' quoth our king merrily e:

* In faith, I take it now very unldnd :
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wme
heartily.'
Quoth Dicke, *You are like to stay till I have
din'd;
You feed us with twatling dishes soe small; 95

Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all!'

*Aye, marry,' quoth om' Idng, *that were a damtyo
thing.
Could a man get but one here for to eate.'

156 KELIQL'KS OF A^'CIENT POETRY.

With that Dickc straite arose, and pluckt one from
his hose,
Wliich with heat of his breech gan to sweate. loo
The king made a proffer to snatch it away : —
* 'Tis meat for yom* master : good sir, you must stay/

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent ;

And then the ladyes prepared to dance.
Old Sir John Cockle, and llichard, incontinent los

Unto their places the king did advance.
Here with the ladyes such sport they did make.
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake.

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them,
Asldng young Eichard then, if he would wed; no

'Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh theeT
Quoth he, ' Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head :

She 's my love, she 's my life, her will I wed ;

She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead.'

Then Sir John Coclde the king call'd unto him, 115
And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer;

And gave him out of hand three hundred pound
yearlye :
* Take heed now you steale no more of my deer :

And once a quarter let 's here have your view ;

And now. Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu.' 120

THE shepherd's RESOLUTION. 157

XXI.
THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

This beautiful old song was written by a poet, whose name would have been
utterly forgotten, if it had not been preserved by Swift, as a term of contempt.
' Dryden and Wither' are coupled by him like the 'Bavins and Majvius' of
Virgil. Dryden however has had justice done him by posterity: and as for
Wither, though of subordinate merit, that he was not altogether devoid of
genius, will be judged from the following stanzas. The truth is. Wither was
a very voluminous party-"\mtcr : and as his political and satirical strokes
rendered him extremely popular in his life-time ; so afterwards, when these
were no longer relished, they totally consigned his writings to oblivion.

George Wither was born June 11, 1588, and in his younger years distin-
guished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant ; but grow-
ing afterwards involved in the political and religious disputes in the times of
James I. and Charles I. he employed his poetical vein in severe pasquils on
the court and clergy, and was occasionally a sufferer for the freedom of his
pen. In the civil war that ensued, he exerted himself in the service of the
Parliament, and became a considerable sharer in the spoils. He was even one
of those provincial tyrants, whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under
the name of Major Generals ; and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey ;
but surviving the Restoration, he outlived both his power and his affluence;
and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on the court, was long a prisoner in
Newgate and the Tower. He died at length on the second of May, 1607.

Daring the whole course of his life. Wither was a continual publisher ;
having generally for opponent, Taylor the Water-poet. The long list of his
productions may be seen in Wood's Atheua3. Oxon. vol. II. His most popu-
lar satire is intitled, 'Abuses whipt and stript,' 1613. His most poetical
pieces were eclogues, intitled, 'The Shepherd's Hunting,' 1615, 8vo. and
others printed at the end of Browne's 'Shepherd's Pipe,' 1614, 8vo. The
following sonnet is extracted from a long pastoral piece of his, intitled, ' The
Mistresse of PhiUirete,' 1622, 8vo. which is said in the preface to be one of
the author's first poems ; and may therefore be dated as early as any of the
foregoing.

Shall I, wasting in dispaire,

Dye because a woman's faire'?

Or make pale my cheeks with care,

'Cause another's rosie are'?

Be shoe fairer then the day, 5

Or the flowry meads in may ;
If she be not so to me,
Wliat care I how faire shoe be?

158 IlELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Shall my foolish heart be pm'd,

'Cause I see a woman kindl lo

Or a wcll-disposSd naUire

Joyncd with a lovely feature?

Be shoe meeker, kinder, than

Tlie turtle-dove or pelican :

If shee be not so to me, i5

What care I how kind shee be?

Shall a woman's virtues move

Me to perish for her love 1

Or, her well-deservings knowne,

Make me quite forget mine owne? 20

Be shee with that goodnesse blest,

Which may merit name of Best;
If she be not such to me.
What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high, 25

Shall I play the foole and dye?
Those that beare a noble minde.
Where they want of riches find,
Thinke what with them they would doe.
That without them dare to woe; 30

And, unlesse that minde I see.
What care I how great she be?

Great or good, or Idnd or faire,

I will ne'er the more dispaire :

If she love me, this beleeve ; 35

I will die ere she shall grieve.

If she slight me when I wooe,

I can scorne and let her goe :

If shee be not fit for me.

What care I for whom she be ? 40

QUEEN DIDO. 159

XXII.
QUEEN DIDO.

Such is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. to this excellent old ballad,
which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, ' Eneas, wandering Prince
of Troy.' It is Iiere given from that IMS. collated with two different printed
copies, both in black-letter, in the Pepys collection.

The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting sim-
plicity, our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic conclusion on the
classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable he had it not.
Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical justice with a more
impartial hand, than that celebrated poet.

When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres [past,]

Withstood the Greeks in manfull wise,
Then did their foes encrease soe fast.
That to resist none could suffice :
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 6

And corne now growes where Troy towne stoode.

^neas, wandering prince of Troy,

When he for land long time had sought.
At lengili arri\dng with great joy,

To mighty Carthage walls was brought; lo
Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast,
Did entertaine that wandering guest.

And, as in hall at meate they sate.

The queene, desirous newes to heare,
[Says, * Of thy Troys unhappy fate] 16

Declare to me thou Trojan deare:
The heavy hap and chance soe bad.
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had.'

And then anon this comelye knight.

With words demure, as he cold well, 20

Vcr. 1, 21, war, MS. and PP.

IGO RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Of his unhappy ten yeares [fight],
Soo true a tale began to tell,
With words soe sweete, and sighes soe deepe,
That oft he made them all to weepe.

And then a thousand sighes he fet, 25

And every sigh brought teares amaine;
That where he sate the place was wett.

As though he had scene those warrs againe ;
Soe that the queene, with ruth therfore.
Said, * worthy prince, enough, no more/ 30

And then the darksome night drew on.

And twinlding starres the skye bespred ;
When he his dolefull tale had done.
And every one was layd in bedd:
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35

Save only Dido's boyling brest.

This silly woman never slept.

But in her chamber, all alone.
As one unhappye, alwayes wept.

And to the walls shee made her mone ; 40
That she shold still desire in vaine
The thing, she never must obtaine.

And thus in grieffe she spent the night,

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled,
And Phoebus, with his ghstering light, 45

Through misty cloudes appeared red ;
Then tidings came to her anon.
That all the Trojan shipps were gone.

And then the queene with bloody knife

Did arme her hart as hard as stone, so

QUEEN DIDO. IGl

Yet, something lotli to loose her life,
In woef nil wise she made her mono ;
And, rowling on her carefull bed,
With sighes and sobbs, these words shoe sayd :

*0 wretched Dido, queene!' quoth slice, 65

' I see thy end approacheth neare ;
For hee is fled away from thee,

Wliom thou didst love and hold so deare :
Wliat, is he gone, and passed byl
0 hart, prepare thyselfe to dye. 60

Though reason says, thou sliouldst forbcare,

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke ;
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear,

Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke.
Come death,' quoth shoe, 'resolve my smart!' — 65
And with those words shee peerced her hart.

When death had pierced the tender hart

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene;
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart.

Which shee sustained in mournfull teene ; 7o
iEneas being shipt and gone.
Whose flattery caused all her mono ;

Her funerall most costly made.

And all things finisht mournf uUye ;
Her body fine in mold was laid, 76

Where itt consumed speedilye:
Her sisters tearcs her tombe bestrewde ;
Her subjects grief e their kindnesse shewed.

Then was ^neas in an ile

In Grecya, where he stayd long space, 80

VOL. III. L

1G2 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Whcras her sister in short wliilc
Writt to him to his vile disgrace ;
In speeches bitter to his mind
Shoe told him plaine ho was unldnd.

* False-harted wretch/ quoth shoe, * thou art ; 85

And traiterouslye thou hast betraid
Unto thy lure a gentle hart,

Which unto thee much welcome made ;
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy,
Whose folly bred her deere annoy. 90

Yett on her death-bed when shoe lay.

Shoe prayd for thy prosperitye,
Beseeching god, that every day
Might breed thy great felicitye :
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend ; 95

Heavens send thee such untimely end.'

Wlien he these lines, full fraught with gall,

Perused had, and wayed them right.
His lofty courage then did fall ;

And straight appeared in his sight 100

Queene Dido's ghost, both grim and pale ;
Which made this valliant souldier quaile.

* ^neas,' quoth this ghastly ghost,

* My whole delight when I did live.
Thee of all men I loved most; 105

- My fancy and my will did give ;
For entertainment I thee gave,
Unthankefully thou didst me grave.

Therfore prepare thy flitting soule

To wander vdth me in the aire ; 110

QUEEN DIDO. 1C>3

Where deadlyc gricfe shall make it howle,
Because of me thou tookst no care :
Delay not time, thy giasse is run,
Thy date is past, thy life is done.'

*0 stay a while, thou lovely sprite, iis

Be not soe hasty to convay
My soule into eternall night,

Where itt shall ne're behold bright day.
0 doe not frowne ; thy angry looke
Hath [all my soule with horror shooke.] 120

But, woe is me ! all is in vaine.

And bootless is my dismall crye ;
Time will not be recalled againe,

Nor thou surcease before I dye.

0 lett me hve, and make amends 125
To some of thy most deerest friends.

But seeing thou obdurate art,

And wilt no pittye on me show.
Because from thee I did depart,

And left unpaid what I did owe: i3o

1 must content myselfe to take
What lott to me thou wilt partake.'

And thus, as one being in a trance,

A multitude of uglye feinds
About this woffull prince did dance; 135

He had no helpe of any friends:
His body then they tooke away,
And no man knew his dying day.

Ver. 130, MS. Ilath made my breath my life forsooke.

1(>4 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

XXIII.
THE WITCHES' SONG.^

From IJcn Joiison's 'Masque of Queens' presenteJ at Whitehall, Feb. 2,
1009.

The Editor thought it incumbent on him to insert some old pieces on tiie
popular superstition concerning witches, hobgoblins, fairies, and ghosts. The
last of these make their appearance in most of the tragical ballads; and in the
following songs will be found some description of the former.

It is true, this song of the Witches, falling from the learned pen of Ben Jon-
son, is rather an extract from the various incantations of classical antiquity,
than a display of the opinions of our own vulgar. But let it be observed, that
a parcel of learned wiseacres had just before busied themselves on this sub-
ject, in compliment to K. James I. whose weakness on this head is well-known :
and these had so ransacked all writers, ancient and modern, and so blended
and kneaded together the several superstitions of different times and nations,
that those of genuine English growth could no longer be traced out and dis-
tinguished.

By good luck the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could furnish no pre-
tences for torturing oiu- fellow-creatures, and therefore we have this handed
down to us pure and unsophisticated.

1 WITCH.

I HAVE been all day looking after

A raven feeding upon a quarter;

And, soone as she turn'd lier beak to the south,

I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth.

2 WITCH.

I have beene gathering wolves haires, 5

The madd dogges f oames, and adders eares ;
The spurging of a deadmans eyes ;
And all since the evening starre did rise.

3 WITCH.

I last night lay all alone

0' the ground, to heare the mandrake grone ; lo

1 Our readers will not fail to notice the resemblance between the above and
the incantation in Macbeth and Burns' ' haly table.' — Ed.

THE witches' song. 1G5

And pluckt him up, though he grew full low :
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow.

4 WITCH.

And I ha' beene chusing out this scull

From charnell houses that were full ;

From private grots, and publike pits; is

And frighted a sexton out of his wits.

5 WITCH.

Under a cradle I did crepe

By day ; and, when the childe was a-sleepe

At night, I suck'd the breath ; and rose.

And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 20

6 WITCH.

I had a dagger : what did I with that 1

Killed an infant to have his fat.

A piper it got at a church-ale,

I bade him again blow wind i' the taile.

7 WITCH.

A murderer, yonder, was himg in chaines; 25

The sunne and the wind had shrunke his veines :
I bit off a sinew ; I clipped his haire ;
I brought off his ragges, that danc'd i'the ayre.

8 WITCH.

The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke,
The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backe 30
I have been getting ; and made of his skin
A purset, to keep sir Cranion in.

1<j6 IIELIQL'KS OF ANCIENT POETRY.

9 WITCH.

And I ha' beeno plucking (plants among)
Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue,
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane ; 35

And twise by the dogges was like to be tane.

10 WITCH.

I from the jawes of a gardiner's bitch

Did snatch these bones, and then leaped the ditch

Yet went I back to the house againe,

Kiird the blacke cat, and here is the braine. 40

11 WITCH.

I went to the toad, breedes under the wall,

I charmed him out, and he came at my call ;

I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before ;

I tore the batts wing : what would you have more ?

DAME.

Yes: I have brought, to helpe your vows, 45

Horned poppie, cypresse boughes.
The fig-tree wild, that growes on tombes,
And juice, that from the larch-tree comes,
The basiliskes bloud, and the vipers skin :
And now our orgies let 's begin. so

ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 1G7

XXIV.
ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW,

alias Piicke, alias Hobgoblin, in the creed of ancient superstition, \va3

a kind of nierr}' sprite, whose character and achievements are recorded in this
ballad, and in those well-known lines of Milton's L'Allegro, which the anti-
quarian Peck supposes to be owing to it: ^

♦ Tells how the drudging Goblin swct
To earne his creame-bowle duly set;
When in one night, ere glimpse of morne,
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubber fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimneys length.
Basks at the fire his hairy strength.
And crop-full out of doors he flings.
Ere the first cock his matins rings.'

The reader will observe that our simple ancestors had reduced all these
whimsies to a kind of system, as regular, and perhaps more consistent, than
many parts of classic mythology: a proof of the extensive influence and vast
antiquity of these superstitions. Mankind, and especially the common people,
could not every where have been so unanimously agreed concerning these arbi-
trary notions, if they had not prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed,
a learned friend in Wales assures the Editor, that the existence of Fairies
and Goblins is alluded to by the most ancient British Bards, who mention
them under various names, one of the most common of which signifies, ' The
spirits of the mountains.' See also Preface to Song XXV.

This song which Peck attributes to Ben Jonson, (though it is not found
among his works) is cinefly printed from an ancient black letter copy in the
British Museum. It seems to have been originally intended for some Masque.
[This ballad is entitled, in the old black letter copies. ' The merry pranks of
Robin Goodfellow. To the tune of Dulcina,' &c. (See No. XIII. above.)
Addit. Note Ed. 1794.]

FiiOM Oberon, in fairye land,

The king of ghosts and shado\ves there.
Mad Kobin I, at his command,

Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.

What revell rout 5

Is kept about,
In every corner where I go,

I will 0 'ersee.

And merry bee,
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!

^ Sec also ' Midsummer Night's Dream.' — Ed.

168 UELICiUES OF ANCIENT POETKY.

More swift than lightening can I flyc

About this aery welkin soonc,
And, in a minutes space, descrye

Each thing that 's done belowe the moone,

There 's not a hag 15

Or ghost shall wag.
Or cry, * ware Goblins ! ' where I go ;

But liobin I

Their feates will spy,
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho ! 20

Whene'er such wanderers I meete,

As from their night-sports they trudge home ;
With counterfeiting voice I greete
And call them on, with me to roame

Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 25

Thro' bogs, thro' brakes;
Or else, unseene, with them I go.
All in the nicke
To play some tricke
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho! 30

Sometimes I meete them like a man ;

Sometimes, an ox, sometimes, a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can ;
To trip and trot about them round.

But if, to ride, 35

My backe they stride,
More swift than wind away I go.

Ore hedge and lands.

Thro' pools and ponds
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho! 4o

When lads and lasses merry be.

With possets and with juncates fine;

llOlilN GOOD-FELLOW. 169

Unsceno of call the company,

I eat their cakes and sip their wine ;

And, to make sport, 45

I fart and snort;
And out the candles I do blow :

The maids I kiss;

They shrieke — * Who's this?'
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho! 60

Yet now and then, the maids to please,

At midnight I card up their wooll ;
And while they sleepe, and take their ease.
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.

I grind at mill 55

Their malt up still ;
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow.

If any 'wake.

And would me take,
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho! go

Wlien house or harth doth sluttish lye,
I pinch the maidens blacke and blue ;
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull T,
And lay them naked all to view.

'Twixt sleepe and wake, 65

I do them take.
And on the key-cold floor them throw.

If out they cry.

Then forth I fly.
And loudly laugh out, ho, ho, ho! 7o

Wlien any need to borrowe ought,
We lend them what they do require;

And for the use demand we nought ;
Our owne is all we do desire.

I 70 llELIQUES OF ANClEiNT POETRY.

If to repay, 75

They do delay,
Abroad amongst them then I go,

And night by night,

I them affright
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho! so

When lazie queans have nought to do,

But study how to cog and lye ;
To make debate and mischief too,
Twixt one another secretlye :

I marke their gioze, 85

And it disclose,
To them whom they have wronged so ;

When I have done,

I get me gone.
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho! 9o

When men do traps and engins set

In loop-holes, where the vermine creepe.
Who from their foldes and houses, get

Their duckes and geese, then lambes and sheepe :
I spy the gin, 95

And enter in.
And seeme a vermine taken so ;
But when they there
Approach me neare,
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho! 100

By wells and rills, in meadowes greene.
We nightly dance our hey-day guise ;
And to our fairye king, and queene,
We chant our moon-light minstrelsies.

When larks 'gin sing, 105

Away we fling;

THE FAIRY QUEEN. , 171

And babes new borne steal as we go,

And elfe in bed,

We leave instead.
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho! no

From hag-bred Merlin's time have I

Thus nightly revell'd to and fro :
And for my pranks men call me by
The name of Robin Good-fellow.

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 115

Who haunt the nightes,
The hags and goblins do me laiow;
And beldames old
My feates have told;
So Vale, Vale; ho, ho, ho! 120

XXY.
THE FAIEY QUEEN.

We have here a short display of the popular belief concerning Fairies. It
will afford entertainment to a contemplative mind to trace these whimsical
opinions up to their origin. Whoever considers, how early, how extensively,
and how uniformly, they have prevailed in these nations, will not readily
assent to the hypothesis of those, who fetch them from the east so late as the
time of the Croisades. Whereas it is well known that our Saxon ancestors,
long before they left their Gernian forests, believed the existence of a kind of
diminutive demons, or middle species between men and spirits, whom they
called Duergar or Dwarfs, and to whom they attributed many wonderful
performances, far exceeding human art. Vid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj.
1075. Hickes Thesaur, &c.

This song is given (with some corrections by another copy) from a book
intiiled, *The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence, &c.' Lond. 1G58. 8vo.i

Come, follow, follow me.
You, fairy elves that be :
Which circle on the grecne,
Come follow Mab your quocnc.

' A copy of this ballad is found in a tract on ' the King and Queen oi tiic
Fairies,' printed in 1035. — Ed.

1 72 UELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Hand in hand, let 's dance around, b

For this place is fairye ground.

When mortals are at rest,

And snoring in their nest;

Unheard, and un-espy'd.

Through key-holes we do glide; lo

Over tables, stools, and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.

And, if the house be foul

With platter, dish or bowl.

Up stairs we nimbly creep, is

And find the sluts asleep :
There we pinch their armes and thighes ;
None escapes, nor none espies.

But if the house be swept,

And from micleanness kept, 20

We praise the houshold maid.

And duely she is paid :
For we use before we goe
To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroomes head 25

Our table-cloth we spread ;

A grain of rye, or wheat.

Is manchet, which we eat ;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn cups filFd to the brink. 30

The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snailes,
Between two cockles stew'd.
Is meat that 's easily chew'd ;

THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 173

Tailcs of woniics, and marrow of mice 35

Do make a dish, that 's wondorous nice.

The grashopper, gnat, and fly.

Serve for our minstrelsie ;

Grace said, we dance a while.

And so the time beguile ; 4o

And if the moon doth hide her head,
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewie grasse

So nimbly do we passe.

The young and tender stalk 45

Ne'er bends when we do walk :
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.

XXYL
THE FAIRIES FAEEWELL.

Tliis humorous old song fell from the hand of the witty Dr. Corbet (afterwards
bishop of Norwich, &c.) and is printed from his Tuctica Stromata,' 1648,
12mo. (compared with the third edition of his poems, 1672.) It is tliere called
' A proper new Ballad, intitled. The Fairies Farewell, or God-a-mcrcy Will, to
be sung or whistled to the tune of the Meddow brow, by the learned ; by the
unlearned, to the tune of Fortune.'

Tiie departure of Fairies is here attributed to the abolition of monkery :
Chaucer has, with equal humour, assigned a cause the very reverse, in his
Wife of Bath's Tale.

' In olde dayes of the king Artour,
Of which that Bretons spelcen gret honour,
All was this lond fulfilled of faerie;
The elf-quene with hire joly compagnie
Danced ful oft in many a grene mede.
Thia was the old opinion as 1 rede ;
I spcke of many hundred yeres ago;
But now can no man see non elves mo,
For now the gretc cliaritec and prayeres
Of limitoures and other holy freres,
That serclien every land and every strcmc,
As thlkko U6 motcii in the Konne heme,

174 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Blisaing halles, chambres, kichenes, and bonres,

Citees and burghcs, castles hij^h and tfuires,

Thorpes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,

This maiceth that ther ben no faeriea :

For ther as wont to wallien was an elf,

Ther walketh now the limitour himself,

In undermeles and in morweninges,

And sayth his Matines and his holy thingea,

As he goth in his limitatioun.

Women may now go safely up and doun,

In every bush, and under every tree,

Ther is non other Incubus but he,

And lie ne will don hem no dishonour.'

Tyrwhitt's Chaucer, I. p. 255.

Dr. Richard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford about tliree years, and
afterwards as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635, iEtat 52.

Farewell rewards and Fairies!

Good housewives now may say ;
For now foule sluts in dairies,

Doe fare as well as they :
And though they sweepe their hearths no less c

Than mayds were wont to doe,
Yet who of late for cleaneliness

Finds sixe-pence in her shoe?

Lament, lament, old Abbies,

The fairies lost command; lo

They did but change priests babies,

But some have chang'd your land :
And all your children stoln from thence

Are now growne Puritanes,
Who live as changelings ever since, i5

For love of your demaines.

At morning and at evening both

You merry were and glad.
So little care of sleepe and sloth.

These prettie ladies had. 20

When Tom came home from labour.

Or Ciss to milking rose.

THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 175

Tlien merrily went their tabour,
And nimbly w^ent their toes.

Witness those rings and roimdelayes 25

Of theirs, which yet remaine ;
Were footed in queene Maries dayes

On many a grassy playne.
But since of late, Elizabeth

And later James came in ; 30

They never danc'd on any heath.

As w^hen the time hath bin.

By which wee note the fairies

Were of the old profession :
Their songs were Ave Maries, 35

Their dances were procession.
But now, alas! thev all are dead.

Or gone beyond the seas,
Or farther for religion fled,

Or else they take their ease. 40

A tell-tale in their company

They never could endure ;
And whoso kept not secretly

Their mirth, was punished sure*.
It was a just and christian deed 45

To pinch such blacke and blue :
0 how the common- welth doth neea

Such justices, as you !

Now they have left our quarters ;

A Begister they have, 50

Who can preserve their charters ;

A man both wise and grave.

17G KELIQUKS OF ANCIENT I'OETRV.

An liuudred ot their merry pranks

By one tliat I could name
Arc kept in store; con twenty thanks 55

To WilHam for the same.

To William Churne of Staffordshire

Give laud and praises due,
Who every meale can mend your cheare

With tales both old and true : go

To William all give audience,

And pray yee for his noddle :
For all the fairies evidence

Were lost, if it were addle.

*+* After these Songs on the Fairies, the reader may be curious to see the
manner in which they were formerly invoked and bound to human service.
In Ashmole's Collection of MSS. at Oxford [Num. 8259. 1406. 2.], are the
papers of some Alchymist, which contain a variety of Incantations and Forms
of Conjuring- both Fairies, AVitches, and Demons, principally, as it should
seem, to assist him in his Great Work of transmuting Metals. Most of
them are too impious to be reprinted : but the two following may be very
innocently laughed at.

Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's ' Alchymist,' will find that these impostors,
among their other secrets, affected to have a power over Fau'ies : and that
they were commonly expected to be seen in a chrystal glass appears from that
extraordinary book, ' The Relation of Dr. John Dee's actions with Spirits,
1659,' folio.

' An excellent way to gett a Fayric. (For myself I call Margarett Baixance ;
but this will obteine any one that is not allready bownd.)
' First, gett a broad square rhnstall or Venice glasse, in length and breadth
3 inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the blond of a white henne, 3
Wedriesdayes, or 3 Fridayes. Then take it out, and wash it with holy aq.
and fumigate it. Then take 3 hazle sticks, or wands of an yeare groth : pill
them fayre and white ; a*'.d make [them] soe longe, as you write the Spiritts
name, or Fayries name, \vliich you call, 3 times on every sticke being made
flatt on one side. Then bury them mider some hill, whereas you suppose
Fayries haunt, the Wednesday before you call her : and the Friday followinge
take them uppe, and call her at 8 or 3 or 10 of the cloeke, which be good
planetts and hourcs for that turne : but when you call, be in cleane life, and
turae thy iace towards the east. And when you have her, bind her to that
stone or glasse.'

' An Unguent to annoynt under the Eyelids, and upon the Eyelids eveninge

and morninge : but especially when you call ; or find your sight not perfect.

' R A pint of sallet-oyle, and put it into a viall glasse : but first wash it

THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. 177

with rose-water, and marygokl-watcr ; the flowers [to] be gathered towards
llie cast. Wash it till the oyle come white ; then put it into the glasse, ut
s\ipra : and then put thereto the budds of holyhockc, the flowers of rnarygold,
the flowers or toppes of wikl thime, the budds of young hazle : and the thime
must be gathered neare tiie side of a hill wliere Fayries use to be : and [take]
the grasse of a fayrie throne, there. All tliese put into the oyle, into tlie
glasse : and set it to dissolve 3 dayes in the suune, and then keep it fur thy
use ; ut supra."

After tliis receipt for the unguent follows a form of incantation, wherein tlie
Alchyniist conjures a Fairy, named Elahy GatJwn, to appear to him in that
Chrystal Glass, meekly and mildly ; to resolve him truly in all manner of ques-
tions ; and to be obedient to all his commands, under pain of damnation, &c.

One of the vulgar opinions about Fairies is, that they cannot be seen by
liumau eyes, without a particular charm exerted in favour of the person who
is to see them : and that they strike with blindness such as having the gift
of seeing them, take notice of them mal-a-propos.

As for the hazle sticks mentioned above, they were to be probably of that
species called the Witch Hazle ; which received its name from this manner of
applying it in incantations.

THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.

VOL. m. M

SERIES THE THIRD.
BOOK III.

THE BIETH OF ST. GEOEGE.

The incidents in this, and the other baUad of ' St. George and the Dragon,'
are chiefly taken from the old story-book of ' The Seven Champions of Chris-
tendome ; ' which, though now the play thing of children, was once in high
repute. Bp. Hall in his Satires, published in 1 597, ranks
'St. George's sorrel, and his cross of blood,'
among the most popular stories of his time : and an ingenious critic thinks
that Spenser himself did not disdain to borrow hints from it ;i though I much
doubt whether this popular romance were written so early as the Faery Queen.

The author of this book of the Seven Champions was one Richard Johnson,
who lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, as we collect from his other
publications: viz. — 'The nine worthies of London:' 1592, 4to. — 'The plea-
sant walks of Moor fields :' 1607, 4to. — 'A crown garland of Goulden Roses,
gathered,' &c. 1612, 8vo.— ' The life and death of Rob. Cecill, E. of Salis-
bury: ' 1612, 4to. — 'The Hist, of Tom of Lincoln, 4to.' is also by R. J. who
likewise reprinted ' Don Flores of Greece,' 4to.

The Seven Champions, though written in a wild inflated style, contains
some strong Gothic painting ; which seems, for the most part, copied from the
metrical romances of former ages. At least the story of St. George and the
fair Sabra is taken almost verbatim from the old poetical legend of ' Syr Bevis
of Hampton.'

This very antique poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time [see above
pag. 83.], and so continued tiU the introduction of printing, when it ran
through several editions : t\YO of which are in black letter, 4to, ' imprinted by
Wyllyam Copland,' without date ; containing great variations.

As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very old rhyraist, and as a proof
how closely the author of the Seven Champions has followed him, take a
description of the dragon slain by sir Bevis.

* "Wlian the dragon, that foule is,

Had a syght of syr Bevis,

He cast up a loude cry.

As it had thondred in the sky;

He turned his bely towarde the son;

It was greater than any tonne :

1 Mr. Warton. Vid. Observations on the Fairy Queen, 2 vol. 1762, 12mo passim.

THE I3I11TII OF ST. GEORGE. 1 7i)

His scales was bn-ghtcr then the Rlas,
And liardcr they were tluin any bras :
Betwenc his shuUler and his taylc,
Was forty fote withoute fayle.
He waltred out of his dcnne,
And Bevis pricked his stede then,
And to liym a spere he thraste
That all to shyvers he it braste :
The dragon then gan Bevis assayle,
And smote syr Bevis with his tayle;
Then downe went horse and man,
And two rybbes of Bevis brused than.'

After a long fight, at length, as the dragon was preparhig to fly, sir Bevis

Hit him under the wynge

As he was in his fiyengc,

There he was tender without scale.

And Bevis thought to be his bale.

He smote after, as I you saye,

With his good SAvord Morglaye.

Up to the hiltes Morglay yode

Through harte, lyver, bone, and blonde:

To the ground fell the dragon,

Great joye syr Bevis begon.

Under the scales al on hight

He smote off his head forth right,

And put it on a spere : &c.' Sign. K. iv.

Sir Bevis's dragon is evidently the parent of that in the Seven Champions,
see Chap. III. viz. ' The dragon no sooner had a sight of him [St. George]
but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it had thundered in the elements.
. . . . ' Betwixt his shoulders and his tail were fifty feet in distance, his
scales glistering as bright as silver, but far more hard than brass ; his belly
of the colour of gold, but bigger than a tim. Thus weltered he from his den,

&c ' The champion . '. . gave the dragon such a thrust with his spear,

that it shivered in a thousand pieces : whereat the furious dragon so fiercely
smote him with his venomous tail, that down fell man and honse : in Aviiich

fall two of St. George's ribs were so bruised, &c. At length ... St.

George ' smote the dragon under the wing where it was tender without scale,
whereby his good sword Ascalon with an easie passage went to the very hilt
through both the dragon's heart, liver, bone and blood. — Then St. George —
cut off the dragon's head and pitcht it upon the trimcheon of a spear, &c.'

The History of the Seven Champions, being written just before the decline of
books of chivalry, was never, I believe, translated into any foreigu language :
But ' Le Roman de Beuvcs of Hantonne' was published at Paris in 1502,
4to. Let. Gothique.

The learned Selden tells us, that about the time of the Norman invasion was
Bevis famous with the title of Earl of Southampton, whose residence was at
Duncton in Wiltshire; but he observes, that the monkish enlargements of his
story have made his very existence doubted. See ]S'utL'.s on Poly-Olbion,
Song HI.

This hath also been the case of St George himself; whoso martial history is
allowed to be apocry|)hal. But, to j)rovethat there really existed an orthodox
S:iiiit of this name (although little or nothing, it seems, is known of his genuine

180 UKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

story) is tlie sulject of 'An nistoricnl and Critical Inquiry into tlie Existence
and Character ofSt George, &c. By the Kcv. J. Miliier, F.S.A. 1702, 8vo.'

The Equestrian Figure worn by the Knigiits of the Garter, has been under-
stood to be an emblem of the Christian warrior, in his spiritual armour, van-
quishing the old serpent.

But on this subject the inquisitive reader may consult ' A Dissertation on the
Original of the Equestrian Figure of the George and of the Garter, ensigns of the
most noble order of that name. Illustrated with cop|)er- plates. By John Pet-
ingal, A.M. Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, London, 1753, 4to.' This
learned and curious work the author of the * Historical and Critical Inquiry'
would have done well to have seen.

It cannot be denied, but that the following ballad is for the most part
modern : for which reason it would have been thrown to tlie end of the volume,
had not its subject procured it a place here.^

Listen, lords, in bower and hall,

I sing the wonderous birth
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm

Eid monsters from the earth :

Distressed ladies to relieve ff

He traveird many a day ;
In honour of the christian faith,

AVhich shall endure for aye.

In Coventry sometime did dwell

A knight of worthy fame, lo

High steward of this noble realme ;

Lord Albert was his name.

He had to wife a princely dame.

Whose beauty did excell.
This vh^tuous lady, bemg with child, 15

In sudden sadness fell :

For thirty nights no sooner sleep

Had clos'd her wakeful eyes.
But, lo! a foul and fearful dream

Her fancy would surprize : 20

1 Our readers will all remember Schiller's uoble 'Fight with the Dragon.'— -Ed.

THE BlllTII OF ST. GEORGE. 181

She di'camt a dragon fierce and fell

Conceiv'd witliin her womb ;
AVliose mortal fangs her body rent

Ere he to Ufe could come.

All woe-begone, and sad was she ; 25

She nourisht constant woe :
Yet strove to hide it from her lord,

Lest he should sorrow know.

In vain she strove, her tender lord,

Who watch'd her slightest look, 30

Discover'd soon her secret pain,

And soon that pain partook.

And when to him the fearful cause

She weeping did impart,
With kindest speech he strove to heal 35

The anguish of her heart.

* Be comforted, my lady dear.

Those pearly drops refrain ;
Betide me weal, betide me woe, 40

I '11 try to ease thy pain.

And for this foul and fearful dream.

That causeth all thy woe.
Trust me, 1 11 travel far away

But 1 11 the meaninix knowe.

Then giving many a fond embrace, 45

And shedding many a tcare.
To the weird lady of the woods.

He purpos'd to rcpairo.

182 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

To the weird lady of the woods,

Full long and many a day, 5o

Thro' lonely shades, and thickets rough

He wends his weary way.

At length he reach'd a di'eary dell

With dismal yews o'erhung ;
Where cypress spred it's mournful boughs, 55

And pois'nous nightshade sprung.

No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom,

He hears no chearful sound;
But shrill night-ravens' yelling scream,

And serpents hissing round. eo

The shriek of fiends, and damned ghosts

Ran howling thro' his ear :
A chilling horror froze his heart,

Tho' all unus'd to fear.

Three times he strives to win his way, 65

And pierce those sickly dews :
Three times to bear his trembling corse

His knocking knees refuse.

At length upon his beating breast

He signs the holy crosse ; 70

And, rouzing up his wonted might,

He treads th' unhallow'd mosse.

Beneath a pendant craggy clifiP,

All vaulted like a grave.
And opening in the solid rock, 75

He found the inchanted cave.

THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 183

An iron gate closed up the mouth.

All hideous and forlorne ;
And, fastened by a silver chain,

Near hung a brazed home. so

Then offering up a secret prayer.

Three times he blowes amaine :
Three times a deepe and hollow sound

Did answer him againe.

* Sn knight, thy lady beares a son, 85

Who, like a dragon bright.
Shall prove most dreadful to his foes,
And terrible in fight.

His name advanced in future times

On banners shall be worn : 90

But lo ! thy lady's life must passe

Before he can be born/

All sore opprest with fear and doubt

Long time lord Albert stood ;
At length he winds his doubtful way 95

Back thro' the dreary wood.

Eager to clasp his lovely dame

Then fast he travels back :
But when he reached his castle gate,

His gate was hung with black. 100

In every court and hall he found

A sullen silence reigne;
Save where, amid the lonely towers.

He heard her maidens 'plaine;

184 RKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETllY.

And bitterly lament and weep, los

With many a grievous grone :
Then sore his bleeding heart misgave,

His lady's life was gone.

With faultering step he enters in.

Yet half affraid to goe; no

With trembling voice asks why they grieve,

Yet fears the cause to knowe,

* Three times the sun hath rose and set ;'

They said, then stopt to weep :
' Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare lis

In death's eternal sleep.

For, ah! in travel sore she fell.

So sore that she must dye ;
Unless some shrewd and cunning leech

Could ease her presentlye. 120

But when a cunning leech was fet.

Too soon declared he.
She, or her babe must lose its life ;

Both saved could not be.

Now take my life, thy lady said, 125

My little infant save :
And 0 commend me to my lord,

When I am laid m gTave.

0 tell him how that precious babe

Cost him a tender wife: 130

And teach my son to lisp her name.

Who died to save his life.

THE BIRTH OF ST. GEORGE. 185

Then calling still upon tliy name.

And praying still for thee;
AVithout repining or complaint, 135

Her gentle soul did flee/

Wliat tongue can paint lord Albret's woe.

The bitter tears he shed.
The bitter pangs that \^Tung his heart.

To find Ills lady dead? 140

He beat his breast : he tore his hair ;

And shedding many a tear.
At length he askt to see his son ;

The son that cost so dear.

New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all; 145

At length they f aultering say ;
* Alas! my lord, how shall we telH
Thy son is stoln away.

Fair as the sweetest flower of spring.

Such was his uif ant mien : 150

And on his httle body stampt

Three wonderous marks were seen:

A blood-red cross was on his arm ;

A dragon on his breast :
A little garter all of gold 155

Was round his leg exprest.

Three careful nurses we provide

Our little lord to keep :
One gave him suclce, one gave him food.

And one did lull to sleep. I60

1S6 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

But lo! all in the dead of night,

We heard a fearful sound :
Loud thunder clapt; the castle shook;

And hghtning flasht around.

Dead with affright at first we lay; les

But rousing up anon,
We ran to see our little lord :

Our little lord was gone I

But how or where we could not tell ;

For lying on the ground, 170

In deep and magic slumbers laid.

The nurses there we found/

0 gTief on gTief ! lord Albret said :

No more his tongaie cou'd say,
When falling in a deadly swoone, 175

Long time he lifeless lay.

At length restored to life and sense

He nourisht endless woe,
No future joy his heart could taste,

No future comfort know. I80

So withers on the mountain top

A fair and stately oake.
Whose vigorous arms are tome away.

By some rude thunder-stroke.

At lengih his castle irksome grew, 185

He loathes his wonted home ;
His native country he forsakes

In foreign lands to roame.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 187

There up and clowne he wandered far.

Clad in a palmer's go^Yn ; loo

Till liis brown locks grew white as wool,
His beard as thistle down.

At lengih, all wearied, down in death

He laid his reverend head.
Meantime amid the lonely wilds los

His little son was bred.

There the weird lady of the woods

Had borne him far away.
And train'd him u]d in feates of armes,

And every martial play. 200

II.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

The following ballad is given (with some corrections) from two ancient
black-letter copies in the Pepys collection : one of which is in 12mo, the other
in folio.

Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing;

And of the sack of stately Troy,
What griefs fair Helena did bring,

Which was sir Paris' only joy:
And by my pen I will recite 6

St. George's deeds, an English knight.

Against the Sarazens so iTide

Fought he full long and many a day ;

Where many gyants he subdu' d.

In honoui* of the christian way: 10

188 llEUQUES OF ANX'IENT POETRY.

And after many adventures past
To Egypt land he came at last.

Now, as the story plain doth tell,
Within that countrey there did rest

A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, is

Whereby they were full sore opprest :

Who by his poisonous breath each day.

Did many of the city slay.

The gTief whereof did grow so great

Throughout the limits of the land, 20

That they their wise-men did intreat

To shew their cunning out of hand ;
What way they might this fiend destroy,
That did the countrey thus annoy.

The wise-men all before the king 25

This answer fram'd incontinent;
The dragon none to death might bring

By any means they could invent :
His sldn more hard than brass was found,
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound. 30

When this the people understood,

They cryed out most piteouslye,
The dragon's breath infects their blood.

That every day in heaps they dye :
Among them such a plague it bred, 35

The living scarce could bury the dead.

No means there were, as they could hear.

For to appease the di'agon's rage,
But to present some \drgin clear.

Whose blood his fuiy might asswage ; 40

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 189

Eacli day he would a maiden eat.
For to allay Lis liimgcr great.

This thing' by art the ^rise-men found,

AMiich truly must observed be ;
Wherefore throughout the city round 45

A virgin pure of good degree
Was by the king's commission still
Taken up to serve the dragon's will.

Thus did the dragon every day

Untimely crop some virgin flowr, 50

Till all the maids were worn away,

And none were left him to devour:
Saving the king's fair daughter bright,
Her father's only heart's dehght.

Then came the officers to the king 55

That heavy message to declare,
Wiich did his heart with sorrow sting;

* She is/ quoth he, ' my kingdom's heir ;
0 let us all be poisoned here.
Ere she should die, that is my dear.' eo

Then rose the people presently,

And to the king in rage they went;
They said his daughter dear should dye,

The dragon's fury to prevent :

* Our daughters all are dead,' quoth they, 65

* And have been made the dragon's prey :

And by their blood we rescued were,
And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby ;

And now in sooth it is but faire,

For us thy daughter so should die.' 70

190 llELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

* 0 savo my daiiglitor,' said the king ;

* And let me feel the dra^i-on's stin^c.'

Then fell fair Sabra on her knee.
And to her father dear did say,

* 0 father, strive not thus for me, 75

But let me be the dragon's prey ;
It may be, for my sake alone,
This plague upon the land was thrown.

Tis better I should dye,' she said,

*Than all your subjects perish quite; 8o

Perliaps the dragon here was laid.

For my offence to work his spite :
And after he hath suckt my gore.
Your land shall feel the grief no more/

* Wliat hast thou done, my daughter dear, 85

For to deserve this heavy scom-ge \
It is my fault, as may appear,

Wliich makes the gods our state to purge ;
Then ought I die, to stint the strife,
And to preserve thy happy life/ 9o

Like mad-men, all the people cried,

* Thy death to us can do no good ;
Our safety only doth abide

In making her the dragon's food.'

* Lo ! here I am, I come,' quoth she, 95
' Therefore do what you will with me/

* Nay stay, dear daughter,' quoth the queen,

' And as thou art a virgin bright.
That hast for vertue famous been,

So let me cloath thee all in white ; loo

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 191

And crown tliy head with flowers sweet.
An ornament for virgins meet.'

And when she was attired so,

According to her mother's mind.
Unto the stake then did she go ; 105

To which her tender hmbs they bind :
And beinf>' bound to stake a thrall
She bade farewell unto them all.

* Farewell, my father dear,' quoth she,

* And my sweet mother meek and mild; no

Take you no thought nor w^eep for me,

For you may have another child :
Since for my country's good I dye,

Death I receive most willinglye.'

The king and queen and all their train ii5

With weeping eyes went then their way,

And let their daughter there remain,
To be the hungry dragon's prey:

But as she did there weeping lye.

Behold St. George came riding by. 120

And seeing there a lady bright

So nidely tyed unto a stake.
As well became a valiant knight.

He straight to her his way did take :

* Tell me, sweet maiden,' then quoth he, 125

* \Miat caitif thus abuseth thee '?

And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow.
Which here is figured on my breast,

I will revenge it on his brow,

And break my lance upon his chest:' luo

192 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And speaking thus wliorcas he stood,
Tlie drai!:on issued from the wood.

The lady tliat did first espy

The dreadful dragon coming so.
Unto St. George aloud did cry, 135

And willed him away to go;

* Here comes that cursed fiend/ quoth she,

* That soon will make an end of me.'

St. George then looking round about.

The fiery dragon soon espy'd, 140

And like a knight of courage stout,

Against him did most fiercely ride ;
And w^ith such blows he did him greet.
He fell beneath his horse's feet.

For with his launce that was so strong, 145

As he came gaping in his face.
In at his mouth he thrust along ;

For he could pierce no other place :
And thus within the lady's view
This mighty dragon straight he slew. i50

The savour of his poisoned breath
Could do this holy knight no harm.

Thus he the lady sav'd from death,
And home he led her by the arm ;

Which when king Ptolemy did see, 155

There was great mirth and melody.

When as that valiant champion there

Had slain the dragon in the field,
To court he brought the lady fair.

Which to their hearts much joy did yield. igo

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 193

lie in the court of Egypt staid
Till lie most falsely was betray'd.

That lady dearly lov'd tlie kniglit,

He counted lier his only joy; 165

But when tlieir love was brought to light

It turn'd unto their gi'eat annoy :
Th' Morocco kinu: was in the court,
Who to the orchard did resort,

Dayly to take the pleasant air, 170

For pleasui'e sake he us'd to walk.
Under a wall he oft did hear

St. George with lady Sabra talk :
Theii* love he shew'd unto the Idng,
Wliicli to St. George great woe did bring. 175

Those kings together did devise

To make the christian knight away,
With letters him in cmi:eous wise

They straightway sent to Persia :
But wrote to the sophy him to kiU, I80

And treacherously his blood to spill.

Thus they for good did him reward.

With evil, and most subtilly
By such vile meanes they had regard

To work his death most cruelly; i85

Who, as thi'ough Persia land he rode,
With zeal destroy'd each idol god.

For which ofTence he straight was thrown

Into a dungeon dark and deep ;
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon, i9o

Ho bitterly did wail and weep :

VOL. III. N

IDi llELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Yet like a kniglit of courage stout,
At length his way he digged out.

Three grooms of the king of Persia

By night this valiant champion slew, 195

Though he had fasted many a day ;

And then away from thence he flew
On the best steed the sophy had;
W^iich when he knew he was full mad.

Towards Christendom he made his flight, 200

But met a gyant by the way.
With whom in combat he did fight

Most vahantly a summer's day :
Who yet, for all his bats of steel,
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel. 205

Back o'er the seas with many bands

Of w^arlike sonldiers soon he past.
Vowing upon those heathen lands

To work revenge; which at the last.
Ere thrice three years were gone and spent, 210
He wrought unto his heart's content.

Save onely Egypt land he spar'd

For Sabra bright her only sake.
And, ere for her he had regard.

He meant a tryal kind to make : 215

Mean while the Idng o'ercome in field
Unto saint George did quickly }^eld.

Then straight Morocco's king he slew.

And took fair Sabra to his wife.
But meant to try if she were true 220

Ere with her he would lead his life :

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. 19. J

And, tlio' he had her in his train,
She did a virgin pure remain.

Toward England then that lovely dame

The brave St. George conducted strait, 226

An eunuch also with them came,
Who did upon the lady wait;

These three from Egypt went alone.

Now mark St. Geori>:e's valour shown.

When as they in a forest were, 230

The lady did desire to rest;
Mean wliile St. George to Idll a deer,

For their repast did think it best :
Lea\4ng her with the eunuch there,
AVhilst he did go to Idll the deer. 235

But lo! all in his absence came

Two hungry lyons fierce and fell.
And tore the eunuch on the same.

In pieces small, the truth to tell;
Down by the lady then they laid, 240

Wliereby they shewed, she was a maid.

But when he came from hunting back.

And did behold this hea\^ chance,
Then for his lovely virgin's sake

His courage strait he did advance, 245

And came into the lions sight.

Who ran at him with all their midit.

Their rage did him no whit dismay,
Who, like a stout and valiant kniglit,

Did both the liungTy lyons slay 260

Within the lady Sabra's siglit :

li)G RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Wlio all this wliilo sad and demure,
There stood most like a \drgin pure.

Now when St. George did surely know

This lady was a virgin true, 255

His heart was glad, that erst was woe.
And all his love did soon renew :

He set her on a palfrey steed,

And towards England came with speed.

Where being in short space arriv'd 26 0

Unto his native dwelling place ;
Therein with his dear love he liv'd.

And fortune did his nuptials grace :
They many years of joy did see,
And led their lives at Coventry. 265

III
LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.

This excellent song is ancient ; but we could only give it from a modern copy.

Over the mountains,

And over the waves ;
Under the fountains.

And mider the graves ;
Under floods that are deepest, 5

Which Neptune obey;
Over rocks that are steepest.

Love wiU find out the wav.

Where there is no place

For the glow-worm to lye ; 10

Where there is no space

For receipt of a fly;

LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. 197

Wlicrc the midg'O dares not venture.

Lest herself fast she hxy ;
If love come, ho will enter, 15

And soon find out his way.

You may esteem him

A child for his might ;
Or you may deem him

A coward for his flight ; 20

But if she, wdiom love doth honour.

Bo conceard from the day.
Set a thousand guards upon her,

Lo^^e w^ill find out the way.

Some think to lose him, 25

By havmg him confin'd;
And some do suppose him.

Poor thing, to be blind ;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,

Do the best that you may, 30

Blind love, if so ye call him.

Will find out his way.

You may train the eagle

To stoop to your fist;
Or you may inveigle 35

The phenix of the east;
The lioness, ye may move her

To give o'er her prey ;
But you 11 ne'er stop a lover :

He will find out liis way. 40

198 IIKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

IV.
LOUD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET,

A SCOTTISH BALLAD,

— seems to be composed (not without improvements) out of two ancient
English ones, printed in the former part of this volume. See Book L Ballad

XV. and Book IL Ballad IV, If this had been the original, the authors of

those two ballads would hardly have adopted two such diflferent stories : be-
sides, this contains enlargements not to be found in either of the others. It
is given with some corrections, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland.

Lord Thomas and fair Annet

Sate a' day on a hill ;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,

They had not talkt their fill.

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5

Fair Annet took it ill :

* A' ! I will nevir wed a wife

Against my ain friends will.'

' Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,

A wife wull neir wed yee.' lo

Sae he is hame to tell his mither,

And knelt upon his knee :

* 0 rede, 0 rede, mither,' he says,

* A gude rede gie to mee :
0 sail I tak the nut-browne bride, i5

And let faire Annet heeV

* The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear.

Fair Annet she has gat nane ;
And the little beauty fair Annet has,

0 it wull soon be a'ane !' 20

LOUD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 1J;9

And lie lias till liis brother gane :

* Now, brother, rede yc mee ;

0 sail I marric the nut browne bride,
And let fair Annet bee'?'

* The nut-browTie bride has oxen, brother, 25

The nut-browne bride has kye ;

1 wad hae ye marrio the niit-browne bride.
And cast fair Annet bye/

* Her oxen may dye T the house, Billie,

And her kye into the byre ; 30

And I sail hae nothing to my sell,
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre/

And he has till his sister gane :

* Now, sister, rede ye mee ;

0 sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35

And set faire Annet free?'

* Ise rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,

And let the browne bride alane ;
Lest ye sould sigh and say, Alace!

AVliat is this we brought hame'?' 40

* No, I will tak my mithers counsel.

And manie me owt 0' hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride ;
Fair Annet may leive the land/

Up then rose fair Annets father 45

Twa hours or it wer day.
And he is gane into the bower,

Wherein fair Annet lay.

200 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

* Rise up, rise up, fair Annct,' he says,

* Put on your silken sheene ; 5o

Let us gae to St. Maries kirke,
And see that rich wedcleeii.'

* My maides, gae to my dressing roome.

And dress to me my hair ;
Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, es

See yee lay ten times mair.

My maids, gae to my dressing room.

And di'ess to me my smock;
The one haK is o^ the holland fine,

The other o' needle-work.' eo

The horse fair Annet rade upon.

He amblit like the wind,
Wi' siller he was shod before,

Wr burning gowd behind.

Four and twantv siller bells 65

Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o' the norland wind,

They tinkled ane by ane.

Four and twanty gay gude loiichts

Bade by fair Annets side, ro

And four and twanty fair ladies^

As gin she had bin a bride.

And whan she cam to Maries kirk,

She sat on Maries stean :
The cleading that fair Annet had on 75

It skinkled in thek een.

LOUD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNEX. 201

And whan she cam into the ku'k.

She shimmcr'cl like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist,

Was a' wi' pearles bedone.

She sat her by the nut-browne bride,

And her een they were sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,

When fair Annet she drew near.

He had a rose into his hand, 85

And he gave it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride.

Laid it on fair Annets knee.

Up than spak the nut-browne bride,

She spak wi' meilde spite; 90

' And whair gat ye that rose-water,

That does mak yee sae white?'

' 0 I did get the rose-water,

Whair ye w^uU neir get nane.
For I did get that very rose-water 95

Into my mithers wame.'

The bride she drew a long bodkin,

Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake fair Annet unto the heart.

That word she nevir spak mair. 100

Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale,

And marveUt what mote bee :
But whan he saw her dear hearts bludc,

A' wood-wroth wexed hec.

202 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

He drew his dagger, that was sae s\mr\\ 105

Tliat was sae sliarp and meet,
And drave into the nut-browne bride,

That fell dcid at his fcit.

* Now stay for me, dear Annet,' he sed,

*Now stay, my dear,' he cry'd; 110

Then strake the dagger imtill liis heart,
And fell deid by her side.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',

Fair Annet within the quiere ;
And 0' the tane thair gTOw a birk, 115

The other a bonny briere.

And ay they gTOw, and ay they threw,

As they wad fame be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil.

They were twa luvers deare. 120

UNFADING BEAUTY,

This little beautiful sonnet is reprinted from a small volume of ' Poems by
Thomas Carew, Esq. one of the gentlemen of the privie-chamber, and sewer
in ordinary to his majesty (Charles I.) Lond. 1640.' This elegant, and al-
most forgotten writer, whose poems have been deservedly revived, died in the
prime of his age, in 1639.

In the original follows a third stanza; which, not being of general appli-
cation, nor of equal merit, I have ventured to oitiit.

Hee, that loves a rosie cheeke,

Or a corall lip admires.
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke

Fuell to maintaine his fires,

GEORGE BARNWELL. 203

As old time makes these decay, 5

So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calme desires.

Hearts with equal love combined

Kmdle never-dying fires : lo

Wliere these are not I despise
Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes.

VI.

GEOEGE BARNWELL.

The subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular from the modern play
■wiiicii is founded upon it. This was written by George Lillo, a jeweller of

London, and first acted about 1730. As for the ballad it was printed at

least as early as the middle of the 17th century.

It is here given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a strange in-
termixture of Roman and black letter. It is also collated with another copy
in the Aslmiole collection at Oxford, which is thus intitled, ' An excellent
ballad of George Barnwell, an apprentice of London, who . . . thrice robbed
his master and murdered his uncle in Ludlow.' The tune is ' The Merchant.'

This tragical narrative seems to relate a real fact ; but when it happened I
have not been able to discover.

THE FIRST PART.

All youths of fair England

That dwell both far and near.
Regard my story that I tell,

And to my song give ear.

A London lad I was, 6

A merchant's prentice bound;
My name George Bamw^ell; that did spend

My master many a pound.

20 4 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT rOETllY.

Take heed of liarlots then.

And their enticing trains; lo

For by that means I have been brought

To hang alive in chains.

As I, upon a day,

Was walking through the street
About my master's business, 15

A wanton I did meet.

A gallant dainty dame,

And sumptuous in attire ;
With smihng look she greeted me.

And did my name require. 20

Which when I had declared.

She gave me then a kiss,
And said, if I would come to her,

I should have more than this.

' Fair mistress,' then quoth I, 25

' If I the place may know,
This evening I will be with you.

For I abroad must go

To gather monies in,

That are my master's due : 30

And ere that I do home return,

I '11 come and visit you.'

' Good Barnwell,' then quoth she,

* Do thou to Shoreditch come.
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 35

Next door unto the Gun.

GEORGE BARNWELL. 205

And tmst mc on my truth.

If thou keep touch with mc,
]\Iy dearest friend, as my own heart

Thou shalt right welcome be.' 40

Tims parted we in peace,

And home I passed right ;
Then went abroad, and gathered in.

By six o'clock at night,

An hundred pound and one : 45

With bag under my arm
I went to Mrs. Milhvood's house.

And thought on little harm;

And knocking at the door.

Straightway herself came down ; so

Rustling in most brave attire.

With hood and silken gown.

Who, through her beauty bright,

So gloriously did shine,
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 65

She seemed so divine.

She took me by the hand.

And with a modest grace,
* Welcome, sweet Earnw^ell,' then quoth she,

* Unto this homely place. 60

And since I have thee found

As good as thy w^ord to be :
A homely supper, ere we part.

Thou shalt take here with me.'

20G RELIQUES OF ANX'IENT POETRY.

* 0 pardon me/ quoth I, 65

* Fair mistress, I you prayo ;
For why, out of my master's house.

So long I dare not stay/

* Alas, good Sir,' she said,

* Are you so strictly ty'd, 70
You may not with your dearest friend

One hour or two abide 1

Faith, then the case is hard :
If it be so,' quoth she,

* I would I were a prentice bound, 75

To live along with thee :

Tlierefore, my dearest George,

List well what I shall say,
And do not blame a woman much,

Her fancy to be\way. 80

Let not affection's force

Be counted lewd desire ;
Nor think it not immodesty,

I shoidd thy love require.'

With that she turn'd aside, 85

And with a blushing red,
A mournful motion she bewray'd

By hanging down her head.

A handkerchief she had,

All WTOught with silk and gold : 90

Wliich she to stay her trickling tears

Before her eyes did hold.

GEORGE BARNWELL. 207

Tliis thing unto my sight

Was wondrous rare and strange ;
And m my soul and inw^ard thought 96

It ^\TOught a sudden change :

That I so hardy grew,

To take her by the hand :
Saying, * Sw^eet mistress, why do you

So dull and pensive standi loo

* Call me no mistress now.

But Sarah, thy true friend.
Thy servant, Milhvood, honouring thee.

Until her life hath end.

If thou wouldst here alledge, 105

Thou art in years a boy ;
So was Adonis, yet was he

Fau^ Venus' only joy.'

Thus I, who ne'er before

Of w^oman found such grace, no

But seeing now so fair a dame

Give me a kind embrace,

I supt with her that night.

With joys that did abound;
And for the same paid presently, 115

In money twdce three pound.

An hundred losses then,

For my farewxl she gave ;
Crying, * Sweet Barnwell, when shall I

Again thy company have*? 120

208 llELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

0 stay not hence too long,

Sweet George, have me in mind/

Her words bewicht my childishness,
She uttered them so kind :

So that I made a vow, 125

Next Sunday without fail.
With my sweet Sarah once again

To tell some pleasant tale.

Wlien she heard me say so,

The tears fell from her eye; i3o

* 0 George,' quoth she, * if thou dost fail,

Thy Sarah sure will dye/

Though long, yet loe! at last.

The appointed day was come,
That I must with my Sarah meet ; 135

Havmg a mighty sum

Of money m my hand,^

Unto her house went I,
Whereas my love upon her bed

In saddest sort did lye. 140

' What ails my heart's delight,
My Sarah dear?' quoth I;

* Let not my love lament and grieve.

Nor sighing pine, and die.

But tell me, dearest friend, U5

What may thy woes amend,

1 The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shews this narrative
to have been penned before the civil wars : the strict observance of the Sabbath
was owing to the change of manners at that period.

GEORGE BARNWELL. 209

And tliou slialt lack no means of help,
Tliougli forty pound I spend.'

With that she turn'd her head,

And sickly thus did say, iso

* Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great,

Ten pound I have to pay

Unto a cruel wretch ;

And God he knows,' quoth she,
' I have it not/ * Tush, rise,' I said, 155

* And take it here of mo.

Ten pounds, not ten times ten.

Shall make my love decay/
Then from my bag into her lap,

I cast ten pound straightway. leo

All blithe and pleasant then,

To banquetmg we go;
She proffered me to lye wdth her.

And said it should be so.

And after that same time, i65

I gave her store of coyn,
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once ;

All which I did purloyn.

And thus I did pass on;

Until my master then iro

Did call to have his reckoning; in

Cast up among his men.

The whicli w^hen as I heard,
I knew not what to say :
VOL. m. 0

210 RKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

For well I know that I was out irs

Two liimdrcd pound that day.

Then from my master straight

I ran in secret sort ;
And mito Sarah Millwood there

My case I did report. iso

* But how she us'd this youth,

In this his care and woe,
And all a stiiimpet's wiley ways,
The SECOND PART may showe.'

THE SECOND PART.

* Young Barnwell comes to thee.

Sweet Sarah, my delight;
I am undone unless thou stand
My faithful friend this night.

Our master to accompts, 6

Hath just occasion found ;
And I am caught beliind the hand,

Above two hundred pound :

And now his wrath to 'scape.

My love, I fly to thee, lo

Hoping some time I may remaine

In safety here with thee.'

With that she knit her brows.

And Idftliing all aquoy.
Quoth she, ' Wliat should I have to do i5

With any prentice boyl

GEORGE BARNWELL. 211

And seeing you have pnrloyn'd

Your master's goods away.
The case is bad, and therefore here

You shall no longer stay/ 20

' Wliy, dear, thou knowst/ I said,

* How all which I could get,
I gave it, and did spend it all

Upon thee every whit/

Quoth she, ' Thou art a knave, 25

To charge me in this sort,
Bemg a woman of credit fair.

And known of good report :

Therefore I tell thee flat,

Be packing with good speed ; 30

I do defie thee from my heart.

And scorn thy filthy deed/

' Is this the friendship, that

You did to me protest?
Is tliis the gTcat affection, which 35

You so to me exprest?

Now fie on subtle shrews!

The best is, I may speed
To get a lodging anywhere

For money in my need. 40

False woman, now farewell,

Whilst twenty pound doth last,
My anchor in some other haven

With freedom I will cast.'

212 UELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

When she pcrceiv'd by this, 45

I had store of money there :

* Stay, George/ quoth she, * thou art too quick :

Why, man, I did but jeer:

Dost think for all thy speech.

That I would let thee go'? 50

Faith no,' said she, * my love to thee

I wiss is more than so/

* You scorne a prentice boy,

I heard you just now swear.

Wherefore I will not trouble you/ 55

* Nay, George, hark in thine ear;

Thou shalt not go to-night.

What chance soe're befall :
But, man, we 11 have a bed for thee,

0, else the devil take all/ eo

So 1 by wiles bewitcht.

And snar'd with fancy still.
Had then no power to [get] away,

Or to withstand her will.

For wine on wine I call'd, 65

And cheer upon good cheer ;
And nothing m the world I thought

For Sarah's love too dear.

Whilst in her company,

I had such merriment; 70

All, all too little I did think,

That I upon her spent.

GEORGE BARNWELL. 213

' A fig for care and tlioiight !

When all my gold is gone,
In faith, my girl, we will have more, 75

Whoever I light upon.

My fathicr's rich, why then
Should I want store of gold?'

* Nay with a father sure,' quoth she,

* A son may well make bold.' so

' I have a sister richly wed,

1 11 rob her ere I '11 want.'
' Nay,' then quoth Sarah, * they may well

Consider of your scant.'

* Nay, I an uncle have ; 85

At Ludlow he doth dwell :
He is a gTazier, which in wealth
Doth all the rest excell.

Ere I will live in lack,

And have no coyn for thee ; 9o

I '11 rob his house, and murder him.'

* Why should you not'?' quoth sheer

* Was I a man, ere I

Would live in poor estate;
On father, friends, and all my kin, 95

I would my talons grate.

For without money, George,

A man is but a beast :
But bringing money, thou shalt bo

Always my welcome guest. 100

214 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

For slioulJst tliou be pursued

With twenty hues and crycs,
And with a warrant searched for

With Argus' hundred eyes.

Yet here thou shalt be safe; io6

Such privy ways there be,
That if they sought a hundred years.

They could not find out thee/

And so carousing both

Their pleasures to content : no

George Barnwell had in little space

His money wholly spent.

Which done, to Ludlow straight

He did provide to go,
To rob his wealthy uncle there ; ii5

His minion would it so.

And once he thought to take

His father by the way,
But that he fear'd his master had

Took order for liis stay.^ 120

Unto his uncle then

He rode with might and main,
Who with a welcome and good cheer

Did Barnwell entertain.

One fortnight's space he stayed, 125

Until it chanced so.
His uncle with the cattle did

Unto a market go.

^ I.e. for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's.

GEORGE BARNWELL. 215

His kinsman rode with him.

Where he did see right plain, 130

Great store of money he had took:

When comuii>" home aixain.

Sudden within a wood,

He struck his uncle down,
And beat his brains out of his head; 135

So sore he crackt his crown.

Then seizing fourscore pound.

To London straight he hyed,
And unto Sarah Millwood all

The cruel fact descryed. i4o

* Tush, 'tis no matter, George,

So we the money have
To have good cheer in jolly sort.
And deck us fine and brave.'

Thus lived in filthy sort, 145

Until their store was gone :
When means to get them any more,

I wds, poor George had none.

Therefore in railing sort.

She thrust him out of door : 150

Which is the just reward of those.

Who spend upon a w^hore.

* 0 ! do me not disgrace

In this my need,' quoth he.
She caird him thief and murderer, 165

With all the spight might be :

216 KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETUY.

To the constable she sent,

To have him apprehended ;
And shewed how far, in each degree.

He had the laws offended. ico

Wlien Barnwell saw her di'ift.

To sea he got straightway ;
\\^icre fear and sting of conscience

Continually on him lay.

Unto the lord mayor then, ics

He did a letter write ;
In which his own and Sarah's fault

He did at large recite.

Whereby she seized was,

And then to Ludlow sent; iro

Wliere she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd.

For murder incontinent.

There dyed this gallant quean,

Such was her greatest gains :
For murder in Polonia, 175

Was Barnwell hung in chains.

Lo ! here 's the end of youth.

That after harlots haunt :
Who m the spoil of other men,

About the streets do flaunt. 180

THE STEDFAST SIIEPIIEED. 217

VII.
THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.

These beautiful Stanzas were written by George Wither, of whom some
account was given in the former part of this volume ; see the song intitled,
' The Shepherd's Resolution,' Book II. Song XXI. In the first edition of this
work only a fragment of this sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards rendered
more complete and intire by tlie addition of five stanzas more, extracted from
AVither's pastoral poem, intitled, 'The Mistress of Philarete,' of which this
song makes a part. It is now given still more correct and perfect by com-
paring it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of
' The Shepherd's Hunting,' 1620, 8vo.

Hence away, thou Syren, leave me.

Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes;
Siigi'ecl words can ne'er deceive me,

(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare; 5

No common snare
Can ever my affection chaine ;
Thy painted baits,
And poore deceits.
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. lo

I 'me no slave to such, as you be ;
Neither shall that snowy brest,
Rowling eye, and lip of ruby
Ever robb me of my rest :

Goe, goe display 15

Thy beautie's ray
To some more-soone enamour'd swainc :

Those common wiles

Of sighs and smiles
Arc all bestowed on me in vaine. 20

I have elsewhere vowed a dutic ;
Tui'nc away thy tempting eye :

218 llELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Shew not mc a painted bcautie ;
These impostures I defie :

My spirit lothes 25

Where gawdy clothes
And fained othes may love obtaine :

I love her so,

Whose looke sweares No ;
That all your labours will be vaine. so

Can he prize the tainted posies,

Which on every brest are worne;
That may plucke the virgin roses
From then' never-touched thome 1

I can goe rest 36

On her sweet brest,
That is the pride of Cynthia's trauie :

Then stay thy tongue ;

Thy mermaid song
Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 4o

Hee 's a foole, that basely dallies,

Where each peasant mates \vith him :
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies.
Whilst ther 's noble hils to clmibe ?

No, no, though clownes 45

Are scar'd with frownes,
I know the best can but disdaine ;

And those He prove :

So will thy love
Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 6o

I doe scorne to vow a dutie.

Where each lustfull lad may wooe :

Give me her, whose sun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not scare unto :

THE Sr^\^'ISII VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 219

Sliee, sliee it is 65

Affoords that blisso
For wliicli I would refuse no paine :

But sucli as you,

Fond f ooles, adieu ;
You seeke to captive me in vaine. eo

Leave me tlien, you Syrens, leave me ;
Seeke no more to v^orke my harmes :
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,

Wlio am proofe against your charmes ;

You labour may 65

To lead astray
The heart, that constant shall remaine :

And I the while

Will sit and smile
To see you spend your time in vaine. 7o

VIIL

THE SPANISH VIEGIN, OE EFFECTS
OF JEALOUSY.

The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories,
iiititled, 'The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor,'
1G42, Pt. 2, p. 89. — The text is given (witli corrections) from two copies ; one
of them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza is ac-
companied with the following distich by way of burden:

• 0 jealousiel thou art uurst in hell :
Depart from hence, and therein dwell.'

All tender hearts, that ake to hear

Of those that suffer wrong;
All you, that never shed a tear,

Give heed unto my song.

220 KELIQL'ES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Fair Isabella's tragedy 6

My tale dotli far exceed :
Alas! that so much cruelty

In female hearts should breed!

In Spain a lady liv'd of late.

Who was of high degTce ; lo

Whose wayward temper did create

Much woe and misery.

Strange jealousies so fill'd her head

With many a vain surmize,
She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, is

And did her love despise.

A gentlewoman passing fair

Did on this lady wait ;
With bravest dames she might compare ;

Her beauty was compleat. 20

Her lady cast a jealous eye

Upon this gentle maid;
And taxt her with disloyaltye ;

And did her oft upbraid.

In silence still this maiden meek 25

Her bitter taunts would bear.
While oft adown her lovely cheek

Would steal the falling tear.

In vain in humble sort she strove

Her fury to disarm ; 30

As well the meekness of the dove

The bloody hawke might charm.

THE SPANISH VIllGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 221

Ilcr lord of humour liglit and gay,

And innocent the while,
As oft as she came in his way, 36

Would on the damsell smile.

And oft before his lady's face.

As thinking her her friend.
He would the maiden s modest grace

And comelhiess commend. 4o

All which incens'd his lady so

She burnt with wrath extreame;
At length the fire that long did glow.

Burst forth into a flame.

For on a day it so befell, 45

When he was gone from home.
The lady all with rage did swell,

And to the damsell come.

And charging her with great offence.

And many a grievous fault; 50

She bade her servants drag her thence.
Into a dismal vault,

That lay beneath the common-shore :

A dungeon dark and deep :
Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55

Offenders great to keep.

There never light of chearful day

Dispersed the hideous gloom ;
But dank and noisome vapours play

Around the wretched room : 60

222 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

And adders, snakes, and toads therein,

As afterwards was known,
Long in this loathsome vault had bin,

And were to monsters grown.

Into this foul and fearful place, 65

The fair one innocent
Was cast, before her lady's face ;

Her malice to content.

This maid no sooner enter'd is.

But strait, alas! she hears 70

The toads to croalv, and snakes to hiss :

Then grievously she fears.

Soon from then- holes the vipers creep.

And fiercely her assail :
Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75

And her sad fate bewail.

With her fair hands she strives in vain

Her body to defend :
With shrieks and cries she doth complain.

But all is to no end. so

A servant listning near the door.

Struck ^vith her doleful noise.
Strait ran his lady to implore ;

But she 11 not hear his voice.

With bleeding heart he goes agen 85

To mark the maiden's groans ;
And plainly hears, within the den.

How she herself bemoans.

THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 223

Again lie to liis lady liics

Witli all tlie haste he may: 90

She into furious passion flics.

And orders him away.

Still back again does he return

To hear her tender cries ;
The ^drgin now had ceas'd to mourn ; 95

AYliich filled him with surprize.

In gi'ief, and horror, and affright,

He listens at the walls :
But finding all was silent quite.

He to his lady calls. 100

* Too sure, 0 lady,' now quoth he,

* Yolu- craelty hath sped ;
Make hast, for shame, and come and see ;

I fear the vngin's dead/

She starts to hear her sudden fate, 105

And does with torches run :
But all her haste was now too late,

For death his worst had done.

The door being open'd strait they found

The vngin stretched along: 110

Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,
Which her to death had stung.

One round her legs, her thighs, her wast

Had twined his fatal wreath :
Tlie other close her neck embrac'd, 115

And stopt her gentle breath.

224 RELIQUES OF AN'CIEXT POETUV.

The snakes, being from lier body thrust.

Their bellies were so fill'd.
That with excess of blood they burst,

Thus with their prey were kill'd. 120

The wicked lady at this sight.

With horror strait ran mad;
So raving dy'd, as was most right,

'Cause she no pity had.

Let me advise you, ladies all, 125

Of jealousy beware :
It causeth many a one to fall.

And is the devil's snare. ^^/"''

IX.
JEALOUSY TYEANT OF THE MIND.

This song is by Dryden, being inserted in liis Tragi-Comedy of ' Love
Triumphant,' &c. a play acted in 1694, and printed the same year. — On
account of the subject it is inserted here.

What state of life can be so blest.
As love that warms the gentle brest;
Two souls m one; the same desh^e
To grant the bliss, and to require '?

If m this heaven a hell we find, 5

Tis all from thee,
0 Jealousie !
Thou tyrant, tyi-ant of the mind.

All other ills, though sharp they j)rove.
Serve to refine and perfect love: lo

In absence, or unldnd disdame.
Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine :

CONSTANT PENELOPE. 225

But, oh, no cure but death we find

To sett us free

From j calousie, 1 5

Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.

False in thy glass all objects are.
Some sett too near, and some too far :
Thou art the fire of endless night,
The fire that burns, and gives no light. 20

All torments of the damn'd we find
In only thee,
0 Jealousie ;
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.

CONSTANT PENELOPE.

The ladies are indebted for the following notable documents to the Pepys
collection, where the original is preserved in black-letter, and is iutitled, ' A
looking-glass for ladies, or a mirrour for married women. Tune Queen Dido,
or Troy town.'

When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife,
And lords in armour bria-ht were seen :

When many a gallant lost his life
About fair Hellen, beauty's queen ;

Ulysses, general so free, 5

Did leave his dear Penelope.

When she this wofull news did hear.
That he would to the warrs of Troy;

For grief she shed full many a tear,

At parting from her only joy; 10

Ilcr ladies all about her came,

To comfort up this Grecian dame.

VOL. III. p

22G RELIQUES OF ANX'IENT POETRY.

Ulysses, with a heavy hcai-t.

Unto her then did mildly say,
*Tlio time is come that we must part; 15

My honour calls me hence away;
Yet in my absence, dearest, be
My constant wife, Penelope.'

' Let me no longer live,' she sayd,

* Then to my lord I true remain ; 20

My honour shall not be betray'd

Until I see my love again ;
For I will ever constant prove,
As is the loyal tm-tle-dove.'

Thus did they part with heavy chear, 25

And to the ships his way he took;

Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;
Still casting many a longing look :

She saw him on the surges ghde,

And unto Neptune thus she cry'd : 30

' Thou god, whose power is in the deep.

And rulest in the ocean main,
My loAT.ng lord in safety keep

Till he return to me again :
That I his person may behold, 35

To me more precious far than gold.'

Then straight the ships with nimble sails
Were all convey 'd out of her sight:

Her cruel fate she then bew^ails.

Since she had lost her hearts delight. 4o

' Now shall my practice be,' quoth she,

* True vertue and humility.

CONSTANT PENELOPE. 227

My patience I will put in ure,

My cliarity I will extend;
Since for my woe there is no cure, 45

The helpless now I will befriend :
Tlie widow and the fatherless
I will relieve, when ui distress/

Thus she continued year by year

In doing good to every one; so

Her name was noised every where.

To young and old the same was known,
That she no company would mind.
Who were to vanity inclm'd.

Mean while Ulysses fought for fame, 55

'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life :

Young gallants, hearing of her name,
Came flocldng far to tempt his wife :

For she was lovely, young, and fair.

No lady might with her compare. 60

With costly gifts and jewels fine.

They did endeavour her to win ;
With banquets and the choicest wine.

For to allure her unto sin :
Most persons were of high degree, cs

Who courted fair Penelope.

With modesty and comely gi-ace.
Their wanton suits she did denye ;

No tempting charms could e'er deface

Her dearest husband's memory e ; ro

But constant she would still remain,

Hopeing to see him once again.

228 RELIQUES OF AN'CIENT POETRY.

Her book lior dayly comfort was,

And that she often did peruse;
She seldom looked in her glass; 75

Powder and paint she ne'er would use.
I wish all ladies were as free
From pride, as w^as Penelope.

She in her needle took deliglit.

And likewise in her spinning-wheel ; so

Her maids about her every night

Did use the distaff, and the reel :
The spiders, that on rafters twine.
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.

Sometimes she would bewail the loss 85

And absence of her dearest love :

Sometimes she thought the seas to cross.
Her fortune on the waves to prove.

* I fear my lord is slain/ quoth she,

' He stays so from Penelope.' 90

At length the ten years siege of Troy
Did end ; in flames the city burn'd ;

And to the Grecians was great joy.
To see the towers to ashes turn'd;

Then came Ulysses home to see 95

His constant, dear, Penelope.

0 blame her not if she was glad,
When she her lord again had seen.

* Thrice-welcome home, my dear,' she said,

* A long time absent thou hast been: 100

The wars shall never more deprive
Me of my lord whilst I 'm alive.'

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS. 229

Fair ladies all, example take ;

And hence a worthy lesson learn,
iVll youthful follies to forsake, io5

And vice from vh'tue to discern :
And let all women strive to be,
As constant as Penelope.

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.

By Col. Richard Lovelace : from the volume of his poems, intitled, ' Lucasta,
Loud. 1649.' 12mo. The elegance of this writer's mauner would be more
admired, if it had somewhat more of simplicity.

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,

That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,

To warre and armes I fhe.

True, a new mistresse now I chase, 5

The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such,

As you too shall adore; lo

I could not love thee, deare, so much,

Lov'd I not honour more.

230 IlELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

XII.
VALENTINE AND URSINE.

The old story-book of Valentine and Orson (wiiich su;]f<(ested the plan of
this tale, but it is not strictly followed in it), was originally a translation from
the French, being one of their earliest attempts at romance. See ' Le Biblio-
theque de Romans, &c.'

The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old metrical legend
of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied iu the ' Seven Champions.' The origi-
nal lines are,

• Over the dyke a bridge there lay,
That man and beest might passe away :
Under the brydge were sixty belles;
Right as the Romans telles;
That their might no man passe in,
But all they rang with a gyn.'

Sign. E. iv.

In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a wretched
corrupt state- unworthy the press : from w^hich were taken such particulars
as could be adopted.

PART THE FIRST.

When Flora ^gins to decke the fields

With colours fresh and fine.
Then holy clerkes then* mattins sing

To good Saint Valentine!

The king of France that morning fair 5

He would a hunting ride :
To Artois forest prancing forth

In all his princelye pride.

To gTace his sports a courtly train

Of gallant peers attend; lo

And with their loud and cheerful cryes

The hills and valleys rend.

Through the deep forest swift they pass,
Through woods and thickets wild ;

When down within a lonely dell is

They found a new-born child;

VALENTINE AND URSINE. 231

All ill a scarlet kerchcr lay'd

Of silk so fine and thin :
A golden mantle wrapt liiin round

Pinii'd with a silver pin. 20

The sudden sight surpriz'd tliem all;

The courtiers gathered round;
They look, they call, the mother seek ;

No mother could be found.

At length the king himself drew near, 25

And as he gazing stands.
The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd,

And stretch'd his little hands.

* Now, by the rood,' king Pepin says,

* This child is passing fair: 30

I wot he is of gentle blood ;
Perhaps some prince's heir.

Goe bear him home unto my court

With all the care ye may :
Let him be christen'd Valentine, 35

In honour of this day :

And look me out some cunning nurse ;

Well nurtured let him bee ;
Nor ou^'ht be wanting: that becomes

A bairn of high degree.' 40

They look'd him out a cunning nurse ;

And nurtur'd well was hee ;
Nor ought was wanting that became

A bairn of hii>:h de-^irce.

232 KEUQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Thus grewe the little Valentino 45

Bulov'd of Iving and peers ;
And shew'd in all he spake or did

A wit beyond his years.

But chief in gallant feates of arms

He did himself advance, 50

That ere he grewe to man s estate

Pie had no peere in France.

And now the early downe began

To shade his youthful chin;
When Valentine was dubb'd a knight, 55

That he might glory win.

* A boon, a boon, my gracious liege,

I beg a boon of thee !
The first adventure, that befalls.

May be reserved for mee.' eo

*The first adventure shall be thine;'

The king did smiling say.
Nor many days, when lo! there came.

Three palmers clad in graye.

*Help, gracious lord,' they weepmg say'd; 65
And knelt, as it was meet :

* From Artoys forest we be come.

With w^eak and weary feet.

Within those deep and drearye woods

There wends a savage boy; 70

Whose fierce and mortal rage doth }deld
Thy subjects dire annoy.

VALENTINE AND URSINE. 233

'JMoiig 1-utliless beares he sure was bred ;

Kc lurks within then* don:
With beares he lives; with beares he feeds, 75

And di-mks the blood of men.

To more than savage strength he joins

A more than liuman skill :
For arms, ne cunning may suffice

His cruel rage to still : ' so

Up then rose sir Valentine,

And claim'd that arduous deed.
* Go forth and conquer,^ say'd the king,

* And great shall be thy meed/

Well mounted on a milk-white steed, 85

His armour white as snow;
As well beseemed a virgin knight,

Wlio ne'er had fought a foe :

To Artoys forest he repaus

With all the haste he may; 90

And soon he spies the savage youth

A rending of his prey.

His unkempt hair all matted hung

His shaggy shoulders round :
His eager eye all fiery glow'd : 95

His face with fury frown'd.

Like eagles' talons grew his nails :

His limbs were thick and strong;
And dreadful was the knotted oak

He bare with him along. 100

234 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Soon as sir Valentino approach'd,

He starts with sudden spring;
And yelling forth a hideous howl,

Ue made the forests ring.

As when a tyger fierce and fell 105

Hath spyed a passing roe,
And leaps at once upon his throat ;

So sprung the savage foe ;

So lightly leaped with furious force

The gentle knight to seize: no

But met his tall uplifted spear.

Which sunk him on his knees.

A second stroke so stiff and stem

Had laid the savage low ;
But springing up, he rais'd liis club, 115

And auii'd a dreadful blow.

The watchful warrior bent his head,

And shun'd the coming stroke ;
Upon his taper spear it fell.

And all to shivers broke. 120

Then lighting nimbly from his steed,

He drew his burnisht brand :
The savage quick as lightning flew

To wrest it from his hand.

Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt; 125

Three times he felt the blade ;
Three times it fell with furious force ;

Three ghastly wounds it made.

VALENTI^'E AND URSINE. 235

Now with redoubled rage he roar'd ;

His eye-ball flashed with fire; 130

Each hairy limb with fury shook;

And all his heart was ke.

Then closing fast with furious gripe

He clasp'd the champion round,
And with a strons* and sudden twist i35

He laid him on the ground.

But soon the knight, with active spring,

O'erturned his hairy foe ;
And now between then sturdy fists

Past many a bruising blow. uo

They roird and grappled on the ground,

And there they struggled long :
SkiKul and active was the knight;

The savage he was strong.

But brutal force and sava^-e strenii'th 145

To art and sldll must yield :
Sir Valentine at length prevail'd.

And won the well-fought field.

Then binding strait his conquer'd foe

Fast with an iron chain, 150

He tyes him to his horse's tail.
And leads him o'er the plain.

To court his hairy captive soon

Sir Valentine doth bring;
And kneeling downc upon his knee, 155

Presents liim to the king.

2oG KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Witli loss of blood and loss of streUc^th,

The savage tamer grew ;
And to sir Valentine ])ecanio

A servant try'd and true. 160

And 'cause with beares he erst was bred.

Ursine they call his name;
A name which unto future times

The Muses shall proclame.

PART THE SECOND.

In high renown with prince and peere

Now Uv'd sir Valentine :
His high reno\\Ti mth prince and peere

Made envious hearts repine.

It chanc'd the king upon a day 5

Prepared a sumptuous feast ;
And there came lords, and dainty dames.

And many a noble guest.

Amid their cups, that freely flowed',

Their revelry, and mirth; lo

A youthful knight tax'd Valentine

Of base and doubtful birth.

The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd,

His generous heart did wound :
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest i5

Till he liis parents found.

Then bidding king and peers adieu,

Early one summer's day.
With faithful Ursme bv his side.

From court he took his way. 20

VALENTINE AND URSINE. 237

O'er hill and valley, moss and moor.

For many a day they pass ;
At length upon a moated lake,^

They found a bridge of brass.

Beyond it rose a castle fair 25

Y-built of marble stone :
The battlements were gilt with gold,

And glittred in the sun.

Beneath the bridge, with strange device,

A hundred bells were hung; 30

That man, nor beast, might pass thereon,
But strait their lanim runa'.

This quickly found the youthful pair.

Who boldly crossing o'er.
The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 35

And rung from shore to shore.

Quick at the sound the castle gates

Unlocked and opened wide.
And strait a gyant huge and grim

Stalk'd forth with stately pride. 4o

* Now yield you, cay tiffs, to my will ;'

He cried with hideous roar;
' Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh.
And ravens drink your gore.'

* Vain boaster,' said the youthful knight, 45

* I scorn tliy thi-eats and thee :
I ti-ust to force thy brazen gates.
And set thy captives free.'

^ Vcr. 2;^>, i.e. a lake that served for a moat to a castle.

238 RKLIQUES OF AN'CIENT POETRY.

Then putting spurs unto his steed.

He aim'd a dreadful thrust : so

The spear against the gyant glanc'd,

And caused the blood to hurst.

Mad and outrageous with the pain,

Ho whu'l'd his mace of steel :
The very wind of such a blow 55

Had made the champion reel.

It haply mist ; and now the knight

His glittering sword displayed.
And riding round with whirlwind speed

Oft made him feel the blade. go

As when a large and monstrous oak

Unceasing axes hew :
So fast around the gyant's limbs

The blows quick-darting flew.

As when the boughs with hideous fall 65

Some hapless woodman crush :
With such a force the enormous foe

Did on the champion rush.

A fearful blow, alas ! there came,

Both horse and laiight it took, 70

And laid them senseless in the dust ;

So fatal was the stroke.

Then smiling forth a hideous grm.

The gyant strides in haste,
And, stooping, aims a second stroke : 75

' Now caytiff breathe thy last !'

VALENTINE AND URSINE. 239

But crc it fell, two tliiindcring blows

Upon his scull descend :
From Ursine's knotty club tlicy came,

Wio ran to save his friend. so

Do^vn sunk the gyant gaping wide,

And rolling his grim eyes :
Tlie hau-y youth repeats his blows ;

He gasps, he groans, he dies.

Quickly su' Valentine rew'd 85

With Ursine's timely care :
And now to search the castle walls

The ventm'ous youths repair.

The blood and bones of murder'd knights

They found where'er they came : 9o

At length withm a lonely cell
They saw a mom^nful dame.

Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears ;

Her cheeks were pale with woe :
And long sir Valentine besought 95

Her doleful tale to know.

* Alas ! young knight,' she weeping said,
* Condole my wretched fate :
A childless mother here you see;

A wife without a mate. 100

These twenty winters here forlorn

I 've drawn my hated breath ;
Sole witness of a monster's crimes.

And wishino- ave for death.

240 RELIQUES OF ANX'IENT POETIIY.

Know, I am sister of a king; 105

And in my early years
Was mari'ied to a miglity prince,

The fairest of liis peers.

With him I sweetly liv'd in love

A twelvemonth and a day : no

Wlien, lo ! a foul and treacherous priest

Y- wrought our loves' decay.

His seeming goodness wan liim pow'r;

He had his master s ear :
And long to me and all the world lis

He did a saint appear.

One day, when we were all alone,

He profFer'd odious love :
The \\Tetch with horrour I repuls'd,

And from my presence drove. 120

He feigu'd remorse, and piteous beg'd

His crime I ^d not reveal :
Which, for his seeming penitence,

I promised to conceal.

With treason, villainy, and wrong 125

My goodness he repay'd :
With jealous doubts he filFd my lord,

And me to woe betray'd.

He hid a slave within my bed.

Then rais'd a bitter cry. 130

My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd

Me, all unheard, to dye.

VALENTINE AND URSINE. 241

But 'cause I then was great with cliihl,

At lengtli my life he spar'd :
But bade me instant quit the realme, 135

One trusty knight my guard.

Forth on my journey I depart,

Opprest with grief and woe ;
And tow'rds my brother's distant court,

AVith breaking heart I goe. 140

•

Long time thro' sundry foreign lands

We slowly pace along :
At length within a forest wild

I fell in labour strong:

And while the laiight for succour sought, 145

And left me there forlorn,
My cliildbed pains so fast increast

Two lovely boys were born.

The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow

That tips the mountain hoar : 150

The younger's little body rough
With hairs was cover'd o'er.

But here afresh begin my woes :

While tender care I took
To shield my eldest from the cold, 155

And wrap him in my cloak ;

A prowling bear burst from the wood,

And seiz'd my younger son :
Affection lent my weakness wings,

And after them I run. . I60

VOL. III. Q

242 HELIQUES OF AN'CIENT POKTItV.

But all forwcariuJ, weak and spent

I quickly swoon\l away;
And there beneath the greenwood shade

Long time I lifeless lay.

At length the knight brought me relief, ics

And rais'd me from the ground :
But neither of my pretty babes

Could ever more be found.

And, wliile in search we wander'd far,

We met that gyant grim; iro

Who ruthless slew my trusty knight.
And bare me oflt* with him.

But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs,

He offer d me no wrong;
Save that within these lonely walls its

I Ve been immur'd so long.'

* Now, surely,^ said the youthful knight,

* You are lady Bellisance,
Wife to the Grecian emperor:

Your brother's king of France. iso

For in your royal brother's court

Myself my breeding had;
Where oft the story of your woes

Hath made my bosom sad.

If so, know your accuser 's dead, iss

And d}"ing own'd his crime ;
And long your lord hath sought you out

Thro' every foreign clime.

VALENTINE AND URSINE. 243

And when no tidings he could leiini

Of his much- wronged wife, 190

He vow'd thenceforth w^tliin his court

To lead a hermit's life/

*Now heaven is Idnd!' the lady said;

And dropt a joyful tear:
' Shall I once more behold my lord, 195

That lord I love so dear?'

* But, madam,' said sir Valentine,

And knelt upon his knee ;
' Know^ you the cloak that wrapt your babe,
If you the same should see'?' 200

And pulling forth the cloth of gold.

In which himself w^as found ;
The lady gave a sudden shriek,

And fainted on the ground.

But by his pious care reviv'd, 205

His tale she heard anon ;
And soon by other tokens found.

He w^as indeed her son.

* But who 's this hairy youth ? ' she said ;

* He much resembles thee : 210

The bear devour'd my younger son,
Or sure that son were he.'

* Madam, this youth with bears w^as bred.

And rear'd within their den.
But recollect yc any mark 21 6

To know yoiu' son agen?'

244 KEIJQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

' Upon his littlu sidu/ (juutli sliu,

' Was stampt a bloody rose/
' Hero, lady, see the crimson mark

Upon his body grows!' 220

Then clasping both her new-found sons
She bath'd their cheeks with tears ;

And soon towards her brother's court
Her joyful course she steers.

What pen can paint king Pepin's joy, 225

His sister thus restor'd!
And soon a messenger was sent

To chear her drooping loixl :

Who came in haste with all his peers,

To fetch her home to Greece ; 230

Where many happy years they reign'd
In perfect love and peace.

To them sir Ursine did succeed,

And long the scepter bare.
Sir Valentine ho stay'd in France, 235

And was his uncle's heir.

XIII.
THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.

This humorous song (as a former editor 1 has well observed) is to old metri-
cal romances and ballads of chivalry, what Don Quixote is to prose narratives
of that kind : — a lively satire on their extravagant fictions. But although the
satire is thus general, the subject of this ballad is local and peculiar; so that
many of the finest strokes of humour are lost for want of our knowing the
minute circumstances to which they allude. Many of them can hardly now
be recovered, although we have been fortimate enough to learn the general
1 Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727.

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 245

subject to whifh the s.'itirc referred, and shiiU detail the inforiTiation, willi
Aviiich we liavc been favoured, in a separate memoir at the end of the poem.

In handlinof bis subject, the author has brought in most of the common
incidents which occur in Romance. The description of the dracron^ — his out-
rages— the people flying to tlie knight for succour— his care in chusing his
armoiu: — his being drest for fight by a young damsel — and most of the cir-
cumstances of tiic battle and victory (allowing for tlie burlesque turn given to
them) are what occnr in every book of chivalry, whether in prose or verse.

If any one piece, more than other, is more particuhirly levelled at, it
seems to be the old rhyming legend of sir Bevis. There a Dragon is attacked
from a Well in a manner not very remote from this of the ballad :

There was a well, so have I wynnc,
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein.
* * *

Than was he glad without fajie,

And rested a whyle for his avaylc;

And dranke of that water liis fyll;

And than he lepte out, with good wyll,

And with Morglay his brande

He assayled the dragon, I understande :

On the dragon he smote so faste,

Where that he hit the scales braste :

The dragon then faynted sore.

And cast a galon and more

Out of his mouthe of venira strong,

And on syr Bevis he it flong :

It was venymous y-wis.

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantlcy's stink, ver. 110. As the
politic knight's creeping out, and attacking the dragon, &c. seems evidently
to allude to the following :

Bevis blessed himselfe, and forth yodc,

And lepte out with haste full good;

And Bevis unto the dragon gone is;

And the dragon also to Bevis.

Longe, and harde was that fyght

Betwene the dragon, and that knyght :

But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore,

He went to tlie well, and washed him tlicrc;

He was as hole as any man,

Ever freshe as whan he began.

The dragon sawe it might not avaylc

Besyde the well to hold batayle ;

He thought ho would, wyth some wylc

Out of that place Bevis bcgyle;

He woulde have flowen then awaye.

But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye,

And hyt him under the wynge,

As he was in his flyenge, kc.

Sign, M. jv. L. j. &LC.

After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with the above
incidents only through the medium of Spenser, wiio has assumed most of them
in his Faery Queen. At least some particulars m the description of the Dragon,
&c. seem evidently Imrrowed from the latter. See Rook I. Canto 11, where
the Dragon's ' two wyugcs like sayls — huge long tayl— with slings— his cruel

' Sec above pag. 83 & p. 178.

24G KKLIQL'E.S OF ANCIENT rOi:TllV.

reiulinj^ clawcs and yron teeth — his liioalli of «inolherii)g sruoke and sul-
phur ' — and the duration of the fi^^dit fi)r upwards of two days, hear a great
rescMnhhmee to passages in the f()llo\vin<^' halhid ; thou;^h it must be confessed
that these particuhirs are common to all old writers of Ilomance.

Although this ballad must have been written early in the seventeenth cen-
tury, we have niut with none but such as were comparatively modern cojiies.
It is here printed from one in Roman letter, in the i'epys Collection, collated
with such others as could be procured.

Old stories tell, how Hercules

A Dragon slew at Lerna,
AVitli seven heads, and fourteen eyes,
To see and well discern-a :
Cut he had a club, this dragon to drub, 5

Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye :
But j\[ore of More-Hall, with nothing at all.
He slew the dragon of Wantley.

This dragon had two furious wings,

Each one upon each slioulder; lo

With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl.
Which made him bolder and bolder.
He had long claws, and in his jaws

Four and forty teeth of iron ;
With a hide as tough, as any bufF, 15

Which did him round environ.

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse

Held seventy men in his belly?
This dragon was not quite so big,

But very near, 1 11 tell ye. 20

Devoured he poor children three.

That could not with him grapple ;
And at one sup he eat them up.
As one would eat an apple.

All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat. 25

Some say he ate up trees,

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. 247

And that tlie forests sure lie would
Devour up by degrees :
For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies ;

He ate all, and loft none behind, 30

But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,

Wliicli on tlie hills you will find.

In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham,

The place I know it well;
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts, 35

I vow I cannot tell ;
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,

And Matthew's house hard by it ;
0 there and then was this dragon's den,

You could not chuse but spy it. 40

Some say, this dragon was a witch;

Some say, he was a devil.
For from his nose a smoke arose.
And with it burning snivel ;
Which he cast off, when he did cough, 45

In a well that he did stand by;
Which made it look, just like a brook
Bunning with burning brandy.

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt,

Of whom all towns did ring; 50

For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff
and huff.
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing :
By the tail and the main, with his hands twain

He swung a horse till he was dead ;
And that which is stranger, he for very anger 55

Eat him all up but his head.

Vcr. 20, were to him j]jorPC and birclics. Other Copies.

248 RKLIQUE.S OF ANCIENT POETRY.

These cliilJren, as i tolJ, buiu*^* oat ;

]\ren, women, girls and boys.
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,

And made a hideous noise : co

* 0 save us all, More of More- Hall,

Thou peerless knight of these woods ;
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,
We 11 give thee all our goods/

' Tut, tut,' quoth he, ' no goods I want ; 65

But I w^ant, I want, in sooth,
A fair maid of sixteen, that 's brisk, and keen.
With smiles about the mouth ;
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,

With blushes her cheeks adorning; 70

To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight.
And to di^ess me in the morning.'

This being done he did engage

To hew the dragon down;
But first he went, new armour to 75

Bespeak at Sheffield town ;
With spikes all about, not within but without.

Of steel so sharp and strong;
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er
Some five or six inches lonii;. so

'o*

Had you but seen him in this dress.

How fierce he look'd, and how big.
You would have thought him for to be
Some Egyptian porcupig:
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 85

Each cow, each horse, and each hog :
For fear they did flee, for they took him to bo
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog.

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEV. 24.9

To SCO this fight, all people then

Got up on trees and houses, 90

On chm*clies some, and chimneys too ;
But these put on then trowses.
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose.

To make him strong and mighty,
lie drank by the tale, six pots of ale, 95

And a quart of aqua-vita3.

It is not strength that always wins,

For wit doth strength excell ;
Which made our cunning champion

Creep do^\Ti into a well; 100

Where he did think, this dragon would drink,

And so he did in truth ;
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, ' boh ! '
And hit him in the mouth.

* Oh,' quoth the dragon, * pox take thee, come out,
Tliou disturVst me in my drink : ' iog

And then he turn' d, and s ... at him ;
Good lack how he did stink!
* Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul.

Thy dung smells not like balsam; no

Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore.
Sure thy diet is unwholsome.'

Our politick knight, on the other side,

Crept out upon the brink,
And gave the dragon such a douse, 115

He knew not what to think :
*By cock,' quoth he, *say you so: do you sccT

And then at him he let fly
With hand and with foot, and so they went to 't;
And the word it was, 'Hoy boys, hey!' 120

250 KEUQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

' Your words; quoth the dni^'on, *1 don't uiidurstand :'

Tlicn to it they fell at all,
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may,
Comj)are great things with small.
'J' wo days and a night, with this dragon did fight 125

Our champion on the ground ;
I'lio' their strength it w^as great, their skill it was
neat,
They never had one wound.

At length the hard earth began to quake.

The dragon gave him a knock, 130

Which made him to reel, and straitway he
thought.
To lift him as high as a rock.
And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall,

Like a valiant son of Mars,
As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, 135
And hit him a kick on the a . . .

* Oh,' quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,

And turn'd six times together,
Sobbmg and tearing, cursing and swearing

Out of his throat of leather; 140

* More of More-Hall ! 0 thou rascal !

Would I had seen thee never;
AYith the thing at thy foot, thou hast pricked my a . .
gut.
And I m quite undone for ever.

Murder, Murder,' the dragon cry'd, hs

' Alack, alack, for grief ;
Had you but mist that place, you could

Have done me no mischief.'

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEV. 251

Then liis head he sliakcd, trembled and quaked,
And down he laid and cry'd; iso

First on one knee, then on back tumbled he.
So groan'd, kickt, s . . ., and dy'd.

*#* A description of the supposed scene of the foregoing ballad, which was
communicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the relater:

' In Yorkshire, G miles from Kothcrham, is a village, called Wortlcy, the scat
of the late Wortley Montague, Esq ; About a mile from this village is a lodge,
named Warnclift' Lodge, but vulgarly called Wantley : here lies the scene of
the song. I was there above forty years ago : and it being a woody rocky
place, my friend made me clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me to
what end, till I came to a sort of a cave ; then asked my opinion of the place,
and pointing to one end, says, ' Here lay the Dragon killed by Moor of Moor-
hall : here lay his head ; here lay his tail ; and the stones we came over on
the hill, arc those he could not crack ; and yon white house you see half a mile
off, is Moor-hall.' I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's name was
^latthevv, avIio was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he endeavoured to persuade
me, was the same Matthew mentioned in the song. — In the house is the picture
of the Dragon and Moor of Moor-Hall, and near it a Well, ' which,' says he,
'is the well described in the ballad.'

tjt Since the former editions of this humorous old song were printed, the
following Key to the Satire hath been communicated by Godfrey Bosville, Esq.
of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire ; who, in the most obliging manner,
gave full permission to subjoin it to the poem.

WarnclifFe Lodge, and Warncliffe Wood (vulgarly pronounced Wantley),
are in the parish of Pennlston, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was
part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, Westminster ; and was
granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family : who therewith endowed an hospital,
which he built at Sheffield, for women. The trustees let the impropriation of
the great tithes of Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great deal by
it, and wanted to get still more : for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take
the tithes in kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a
decree in favour of the IModus in 37th Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not
go along with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was part of a
large purchase made by Ralph Bosville, Esq. from Qu. Elizabeth, in the 2d
year of her reign : and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his elder brother
Godfrey, the father of Francis ; who left it, with the rest of his estate, to his
wife, for her life, and then to Ralph, 3d son of his uncle Ralph. The widow
married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived eighteen years, and survived Ralph.

This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the law-suit carried on con-
cerning this claim of Tithes made by the Wortley family. ' Houses and
Churches, were to him Geese and Turkeys;' which are titheable things, the
Dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, at-
tempted again to take the tithes in kind ; but tlie parishioners subscribed an
agreement to defend their Modus. And at the hoad of the agreement was
Lyonel Rowlestone, who is sujiposcd to be one of 'the Stones, dear Jack,
which the Dragon could not cracJv.' The agreement is still preserved in a

252 llELIQUES OF ANCIENT rOKTKV.

large sheet of parcliment, dated Ist of James I, and is full of names and seals
wlinth might he meant hy the coat of armour, 'with spikes all about, both
within and without.' More of More-hall was either the attorney, or coun-
sellor, who conducted the suit. lie is not di.stinctiy remembered, but More-
hall is still extant at the very bottom of Wantley [W'arnclill'J Wood, and lies
80 low, that it mi^ht be said to be in a Well : as the Draj^on's den [Warnclitt'
Lodge] was at the top of the wood, ' with Matthew's house hard by it.' The
Keepers belonging to the Wortley ftimily were named, for many generations,
Matthew Northall : the last of them left this lodge, within memory, to be
Keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present owner of More-hall still attends
Mr. Bosville's Manor-Court at Oxspring, and pays a Rose a year. ' More of
More-hall, with nothing at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley.' He gave him,
instead of tithes, so small a Modus, that it was in effect nothing at all, and
was slaying him with a vengeance. ' The poor children three,' &c. cannot
surely mean the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been co-
heiresses had he made no will ? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the
descendants of two of them, the late Sir Geo. Saville's father, and Mr. Copley,
about the presentation to Tenniston, they supposing Francis had not the
power to give this part of the estate from the heirs at law ; but it was decided
against them. The Dragon (Sir Francis "Wortley) succeeded better with his
cousin Wordesworth, the freehold Lord of the manor (for it is the copyhold
manor that belongs to Mr Bosville) having persuaded him not to join the
refractory parishioners, under a promise that he would let him his tithes cheap :
and now the estates of Wortley and W^ordesworth are the only lands that pay
tithes in the parish.

N.B. The 'two days and a night' mentioned in ver. 125 as the duration
of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law.

A legend current in the Wortley family states the ' dragon to have been a
formidable drinker, drunk dead by the chieftain of the opposite moors.' Ellis
thinks it was a wolf or some other fierce animal hunted down by More of
More-hall.— Ed.

XIY.
ST. GEORGE FOE ENGLAND.

THE FIRST PART.

As the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old ballads
and metrical romances ; so this is a burlesque of their style ; particularly of
the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of unconnected parts, so fre-
quent in many of them.

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection,
' imprinted at London, 1G12.' It is more ancient than many of the preceding ;
but we place it here for the sake of connecting it with the Second Part.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 253

Why doc you boast of Arthur and his knightcs,
Knowing [well] how many men have endured

fightcsl
For besides lung Arthur, and Lancelot du lake.
Or sir Tristram do Lionel, that fought for ladies

sake ;
Read in old histories, and there you shall see
How St. George, St. George the dragon made to

flee.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for

France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense.

Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued

Lot
Onely with his household, what conquest there he

got:
David was elected a prophet and a king.
He slew the great GoHah, with a stone within a

sling :
Yet these were not knightes of the table round ;
Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did

confound.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for

France ;
Sing, IIo7ii soit qui mcd y pense.

Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight.
They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to

flight:
Hercules his labours [were] on tlie plaines of

Basso ;
And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of

an assc,

254 UKLIQUES OF ANCIKNT I'OKTUV.

And cko he threw a tcinplu dowiio, aud did a

mighty spoyle:
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon
foyle.
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense.

The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long

to tell,
And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did

excell ;
Ilannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did

fighte :
Orlando Furioso lie was a worthy knighte :
Ivemus and Romulus, were they that Rome did

builde :
But St. George, St. George the dragon made to

yielde.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for

France ;
Sing, IIo7ii soil qui mal y pense.

The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish

king.
The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did

bring : ^
He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he

did begin,
Which sought adventures farre and neare, that

conquest they might win :

1 This probably alludes to '■An Ancient Order of Knighthood, called the
Order of the Baud, instituted by Don Alphonsus, king of Spain, . . to wear
a red riband of three fingers breadth,' &c. See Ames Typog. p. 327.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 2.") 5

Tlie ranks of tlio Pagans ho often put to lliglit:
But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Honl soil qui mal y pcnse.

Many [knights] have fought with proud Tamberlainc.
Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine :
Ptowhxnd of Beame, and good [sir] Olivere
In the forest of Aeon slew both woolfe and beare :
Besides that noble Hollander, [sir] Goward with

the bill:
But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did

spill.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for

France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood :
Alf ride and Henry they were brave knightes and good :
The four sons of Aymon, that followed Charlemaine :
Sir Plughon of Burdeaux, aud Godfrey of BuUaine :
These were all French kni^'htes that lived in that ao-e :
But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare,
And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with

the moore :
Sir Isenbras, and Eglamore they were knii>:lites most

bold;
And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath

told :

25G KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

There were many English knights that l*agans

did convert:
But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's
heart.
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Iloni soil qui mal y pense.

The noble earl of Warwick, that w^as call'd sir Guy,

The infidels and pagans stoutlie did dcfie ;

He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the

death
Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Duns-
more heath ;
Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas :
But St. George, St. George the dragon did appease.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Richard Coeur-de-lion erst king of this land.
He the lion gored with his naked hand:^
The false duke of Austria nothing did he f eare ;
But his son he lolled with a boxe on the eare;
Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande :
But St. George, St. George the dragon did with-

stande.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for

France ;
Sing, IIo7ii soit qui mal y pense.

Henry the fifth he conquered all France,

And quartered their arms, his honour to advance :

1 Alluding to the fabulous Exploits attributed to this King in the old Ro-
mances. See the Dissertation prefixed to this Volume.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND, 257

lie tlieir cities razed, and threw their castles dowiie,
And his head he lionourcd with a donblc crownc :
He thumped the Fi'ench-men, and after home he

came :
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for

France ;
Sing, Iloni soit qui mal y ijeyise.

St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance :
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance :
St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him

away :
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine :
But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath

slaine.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for

France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

XV.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND,

THE SECOND PART.

was -written by Jolin Grubb, IM.A. of Christ Cliurch, Oxford. The

occasion of its bein<:^ composed is said to have been as follows. A set of
gentlemen of the university had formed themselves into a Club, all the mem-
bers of which were to be of the name of 'George:' Their anniversary fea.st
was to be held on St. (ieornc's day. Our Author solicited stron<,f]y to be ad-
mitted ; but his name being unfortunately John, this disqualification was
dispensed with only upon this condition, that he would compose a song' in
honour of their Tatron Saint, and would every year produce one or more new
stanzas, to be siuig on their annual festival. This gave birth to the fullowing

VOL. II r. II

258 UELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

humorous pcrforinnnce, the several stanzas of wliich were the produce of many
suocossivc anniversaries.'

This diverting poem was lonj^ handed about in manu.script, at length a
friend of Gnibb's undertook to get it printed, who, not keeping pace with the

inipatienoe of his friends, was addressed in the fullowing whimsical macaronic
lines, which, in such a collection as this, may not improperly accompany the
poem itself.

Expostnlatiuncula, slvc Querlmoniuncula ad Antonium [Atherton] ob Poema Johannls
Grubl), Virj tov navv ingeniosissimi in lucem nondum editi.

Tonll Tune sines dlvina poemata Grubbi
Intorab'd in secret thus still to remain any longer,
Tovvofxa aov shall lust, Q rpu/3/3e bia^nepes aei,
Grubbe tuum nomen vivct dum nobilis ale-a
Efflcit heroas, dignamquchcroe puellara.
Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efflcit alea-a
Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoiis
Quern vocitant Homines Brandy, Superi Cherry-brandy.
Sajpe illi long-cut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco
Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si gcnerosior herba
(Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum)
Mundungus desit, tum non funcare recusant
Brown-paper tosta, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat.
Ilic labor, hoc opus est heronm ascendere sedes!
Ast ego quo rapiar? quo me feret entheus ardor
Grubbe, tui memorem ? Divinum expande poema.
Quae mora? quae ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus anser
Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores?

At length the importimity of his friends prevailed, and Mr. Grubb's song
was published at Oxford, under the following title :

The British Hkroes

A New Poem in honour of St. George

By Mr John Guubb,

School-master of Christ-Church

OxoN. 1688.

Favete Unguis, carmina non prius
Audita, musarura sacerdos

Canto. IIoR.

Sold by Henry Clements, Oxon.

The story of king Arthur old

Is very memorable.
The mimber of his valiant knights,

And roundness of his table :
The knights around his table in 5

A cu'cle sate d' ye see :

1 To this circumstance it is owing that the Editor has never met with two
copies, in which the stanzas are arranf^ed alike, he has therefore thrown them
into what appeared the most natural order. The verses are properly long
Alexandrines, but the narrowness of the page made it necessary to subdivide
them : they are here printed with many improvements.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 259

And altogctlior iiiado up one

Largo hoop of cliivaliy.
He had a sword, both broad and sharp,

Y-clcped Cahbiirn, lo

Would cut a flint moro easily.

Than pen-knife cuts a corn;
As case-knife does a capon carve.

So would it carve a rock,
And split a man at single slasli, 15

From noddle down to nock.
As Roman Augur's steel of yore

Dissected Tarquin's riddle.
So this would cut both conjurer

And whetstone thro' the middle. 20

He was the cream of Brecknock,

And flower of all the Welsh :
But George he did the dragon fell.

And gave him a plaguy squelsh.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ; 25

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Pendragon, like his father Jove,

Was fed with milk of goat ;
And like him made a noble shield

Of she-goat's shaggy coat : 30

On top of burnisht helmet he

Did wear a crest of leeks ;
And onions' heads, wdiose dreadful nod

Drew tears down hostile cheeks.
Itch, and Welsh blood did make him hot, 3:>

And very prone to ire ;
II' was ting'd with biimstonc, like a match,

And would as soon take fire.

200 RELIQUES OF AN'CIENT POETRY.

As Ijrimstono he took inwardly

When scurf gave him occasion, 40

His postern puff* of wind was a

Sulphureous exhalation.
The Briton never tergivers'd,

But was for adverse drubbing,
And never turned his back to aught, 45

But to a post for scrubbing.
His sword would serve for battle, or

For dinner, if you please ;
When it had slain a Cheshire man,

Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. so

He w^ounded, and, in their own blood.

Did anabaptize Pagans :
But George he made the dragon an

Example to all dragons.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ; 65

Sing, Honi soit qui mat y peiise.

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time.

Challenged a gyant savage ;
And streight came out the unweildy lout

Brim-full of WTath and cabbage : go

He had a phiz of latitude,

And was full thick i' th' middle ;
The cheeks of puffed trumpeter,

And paunch of squii'e Beadle.^
But the knight fell'd him, like an oak, 65

And did upon his back tread;
The valiant knight his weazon cut.

And Atropos his packthread.

' Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at Oxford.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLANJX 2G1

Besides lie fouiilit with a dun cow,

As say the poets witty, 7o

A dreadful dun, and horned too,

Like dun of Oxford city :
The fervent dog-days made her mad,

By causing heat of weather,
Syi'ius and Procyon baited her, 75

As bull-doo's did her father :
Grasiers, nor butchers this fell beast.

E'er of her f rolick hindred ;
John Dosset ^ she'd Imock down as flat.

As John knocks down her Idndred : so

Her heels would lay ye all along,

And Idck into a swoon;
Fremn's ^ cow-heels keep up your corpse,

But hers w^ould beat you dow^n.

She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85

And proud was of the honour;
Was pufft by mauling butchers so.

As if themselves had blown her.
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy,

But all that would not fright him ; 9o

Wlio wav'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn,

As if he 'd gone to knight him.
He let her blood, frenzy to cure,

And eke he did her gall rip ;
His trenchant blade, like cook's long

spit, 95

Ban thro' the monster's bald-rib :
Pie rear'd up the vast crooked rib.

Instead of arch triumphal :

^ A butcher tliat then served the college. — ^ A cook, who on fast nights was
famous fur selling cow-heel and tripe.

2G2 KELIQl'ES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

But George hit tli' dragon such a pult,

As made liiin on his bum fall. lOO

St. George he was for England; St Dennis was for
France ;

Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense.

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow,

The Turkish squadrons slew;
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down, 105

With half -moon made of yew :
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall,

With showers of arrows thick.
And bow-strings, without strangling, sent

Grand- Yisiers to old Nick: 110

]\Iucli tm'bants, and much Pagan pates

He made to humble in dust ;
And heads of Saracens he fixt

On spear, as on a sign-post:
He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop 115

Of Mahomet's religion,
As if 't had been the whispering bird,

That prompted him ; the pigeon.
In Turkey-leather scabbard, he

Did sheath his blade so trenchant : 120

But George he swing'd the dragon's tail,

And cut off every inch on't.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

The amazon Thalestris was 125

Both beautiful, and bold ;
She sear'd her breasts wdth iron hot,

And bang'd her foes with cold.

ST. GEOllGE FOR ENGLAND. 2G3

Ilcr hand was like the tool, wherewith

Jove keeps proud mortals under : 130

It shone just like his lightnmg,

And batter'd like his thunder.
Her eye darts lightning, that would
blast

The proudest he that swagger'd,
And melt the rapier of his soul, 135

In its corporeal scabbard.
Her beauty, and her drum to foes

Did cause amazement double ;
As timorous larks amazed are

With light, and with a low-bell : 140

With beauty and that lapland charm,^

Poor men she did bewitch all ;
StiU a blind whining lover had.

As Pallas had her scrich-owl.
She kept the chastness of a nun 145

In armour, as in cloyster :
But George undid the dragon just

As you'd undo an oister.
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Iloni soit qui mal ^^967?5C. 150

Stout Hercules, was offspring of

Great Jove, and fair Alcmene :
One part of him celestial was.

One part of him terrene.
To scale the hero's cradle walls 155

Two fiery snakes combined,
And, curling into swaddling cloaths,

About the infant twin'd :

^ Tlic drum.

2G4 IlELIQUES OF AN'CIENT POETUV.

JUit lie put out thcso drat^ons' fires,

And did their hissing stop; 160

As red-hot iron with hissing noise

Is quencht in blacksmith's shop.
lie cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down

The horses of new-comers ;
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame, 165

As Tom Wrench ^ does cucumbers.
lie made a river help him through ;

Alpheus w^as under-groom ;
The stream, disgust at ofRce mean,

lian murmuring thro' the room : i7o

This liquid ostler to prevent

Being tired with that long work,
His father Neptune's trident took,

Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork.
This Hercules, as soldier, and 175

As spinster, could take pains ;
His club would sometimes spin ye flax.

And sometimes knock out brains :
H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift

By Juno's Avi'ath and her-spite; 180

Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel.

As cook whips barking turn-spit.
From man, or churn he well knew how

To get him lasting fame :
He 'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185

And milk till butter came.
Often he fought with huge battoon,

And oftentimes he boxed ;
Tapt a fresh monster once a month,

As Hervey ^ doth fresh hogshead. i9o

1 Who kept Paradise gardens at Oxford. — ^ A noted drawer at the Mermaid
tavern in Oxford.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 2G5

lie gave Antciis such a Img',

As wrestlers give in Cornwall :
Hut George he did the dragon kill,
As dead as any door-nail.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis w^as for
France; 195

Sing Iloni soit qui mal y pense.

The Gemini, sprung from an egg.

Were put into a cradle :
Their brains with knocks and bottled ale.

Were of ten-times full addle : 200

And, scarcely hatched, these sons of him.

That hurls the bolt trisulcate.
With helmet-shell on tender head,

Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat.
Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 205

A boxer was, I wist :
The one w^as famed for iron heel,

Th' other for leaden fist.
Pollux to shew he w^as god.

When he was in a passion 210

With fist made noses fall down flat

By way of adoration :
This fist, as sure as French disease.

Demolish 'd noses' rido-es;
He like a certain lord^ was fam^ 21.5

For breaking down of bridges.
Castor the flame of fiery steed,

With wcll-spur'd boots took dowm ;
As men, with leathern buckets, quench

A fire in country town. 220

1 Lord Lovelace br^kc down the bridges about Oxford, at tlic bcgiiminfj of
tlic Uevolutioii. Sec on this subject a ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102
Lond. 171:J.

266 ItELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

llis famous liorsu, that liv'd on oats,

Is sung on oaten quill ;
By bards' immortal provender

The nag survive th still.
This shelly brood on none but knaves 225

Employ'd their brisk artillery :
And flew as naturally at rogues

As eggs at thief in pillory.*
Much sweat they spent in furious fight,

Much blood they did efFund : 230

Their whites they vented thro' the pores ;

Their yolks thro' gaping wound :
Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust

To make a heavenly sign;
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 235

And then hung up to shine ;
Such were the heavenly double-Dicks,

The sons of Jove and Tyndar :
But George he cut the dragon up,

As he had bin duck or wdndar. 240

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Gorgon a twisted adder wore

For knot upon her shoulder :
She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 245

And curling snakes did powder.
These snakes they made stiff changelings

Of all the folks they hist on ;

1 It litis been suggested by an ingenious correspondent that this was a
popuhir sulyect at that time :

Not carted bawd, or Dan de Foe,
In wooden ruff ere bluster'd so.

Smith's Poems, p. 117.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 267

They turned Larbars into hones.

And masons into free-stone; 250

Sworded magnetic Amazon

Her shield to load-stone changes ;
Then amorous sword by magic belt

Clung fast unto her haunches.
This shield long village did protect, 255

And kept the army from-town.
And changed the bullies into rocks,

That came t' invade Long-Compton.^
She post-diluvian stores unmans.

And Pyrrha's work unravels ; 260

And stares Deucalion's hardy boys

Into then- primitive pebbles.
Eed noses she to rubies turns,

And noddles into bricks :
But George made dragon laxative ; 205

And gave him a bloody fiix.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense.

By boar-spear Meleager got

An everlasting name, 270

And out of haunch of basted swine,

He hew'd eternal fame.
Tliis beast each hero's trouzers ript,

And rudely shewed his bare-breech,
Prickt but the wem, and out there came 275

Heroic guts and garbadge.
Legs were secur'd by u'on boots

No more, than peas by peascods :

1 Sec tlic account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott's Hist, of Oxfurdsliirc.

2G8 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Brass liclmcts, with inclosed sculls,

Wou'd crackle in 's mouth hkc chesnuts. 28o
His tawny hairs erected were

By rage, that was resistless ;
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax,

Did stiffen his rising bristles.
His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285

Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um :
It made them vent both their last blood,

And their last album-grecum.
But the knight gor'd him wdth his spear,

To make of him a tame one, 290

And arrows thick, instead of cloves.

He stuck in monster's gammon.
For monumental pillar, that

His victory might be known.
He rais'd up, in cylindric form, 295

A collar of the brawn.
He sent his shade to shades below,

In Stygian mud to w^allow :
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon.

He made the dragon follow. 300

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense,

Achilles of old Chiron learnt

The great horse for to ride ;
H' w^as taught by th' Centaur's rational part, 305

The hinnible to bestride.
Bright silver feet, and shining face

Had that stout hero's mother;
As rapier's silver'd at one end,

And wounds you at the other. 310

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 2G9

Ilcr feet were bright, his feet were swift,

As hawk pursuing sparrow :
Hers had the metal, his the speed

Of Braburn's^ silver arrow.
Thetis to double pedagogue 315

Commits her dearest boy ;
Who bred him from a slender twig

To be the scourge of Troy :
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was

In Stygian waters steept; 320

As bu'ch is soaked first in piss.

When bo3^s are to be whipt.
With sldn exceeding hard, he rose

From lake, so black and muddy,
As lobsters from the ocean rise, 325

With shell about their body :
And, as from lobster's broken claw,

Pick out the fish you might :
So might you from one unsheird heel

Dig pieces of the loiight. 330

His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns

And hen-roosts, says the song;
Carried away both corn and eggs.

Like ants from whence they sprung.
Himself tore Plector s pantaloons, 335

And sent him down bare-breech'd
To pedant Padamanthus, in

A posture to be switched.
But George he made the dragon look.

As if he had been bewitched. 340

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ;
Sing Iloni soit qui mat y pense.

1 Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln collcf^e, ^ave a silver arrow
to be shot for by the archers of tiic university of Oxford.

270 RELIQUES OF ANTIKXT POETRY.

Full fatal to tlio llomaiis was

The Carthaginian Hanni-
bal; him I moan, who gave them such zi3

A devilish thump at Cannae :
Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure,

Stood on the Alpes's front :
Their one-eyed guide,^ like bhnking mole,

Eor d thro' the hindring mount : 350

Wlio, bafHed by the massy rock,

Took vinegar for relief;
Like plowmen, when they hew their way

Thro' stubborn rump of beef.
As dancing louts from humid toes 355

Cast atoms of ill savour
To blinking Hyatt,^ when on vile crowd

He merriment does endeavour,
And saws from suffering timber out

Some wretched tune to quiver : 3go

So Romans stunk and squeak'd at sight

Of Affrican carnivor.
The tawny surface of his phiz

Did serve instead of vizzard :
But George he made the dragon have sec

A grumbling in his gizzard.
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Uoni soit qui mat y pense.

The valour of Domitian,

It must not be forgotten; 370

Wlio from the jaws of worm-blowing flies.

Protected veal and mutton.

^Hannibal had but one ej'C. — ^ A one-eyed fellow, ■who pretended to make
fiddles, as Avell as play on them ; well-known at that time in Oxford.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. 271

A squadron of flics errant,

Against the foe appears ;
With regiments of buzzing knights, 375

And swarms of volunteers :
The warlilvo wasp encourag'd 'em,

With animating hum ;
And the loud brazen hornet next,

He was their kettle-drum : sso

The Spanish don Cantharido

Did him most sorely pester.
And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight

Full many a plaguy blister.
A bee whipt thro' his button hole, 385

As thro' key hole a witch.
And stabb'd him with her little tuck

Drawn out of scabbard breech :
But the undaunted knight lifts up

An arm both big and brawny, 390

And slasht her so, that here lay head.

And there lay bag and honey :
Then 'mongst the rout he flew as
swift.

As weapon made by Cyclops,
And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395

By dint of massy fly-flops.
Surviving flies do curses breathe.

And maggots too at Caesar :
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard.

And Askelon ^ was his razor. 400

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for
France ;
Sing, Tloni soil qui mat y pense.

^The name of St, George's sword.

272 KELIQUES OF AXriFNT rOETRV.

Julin Criibb, the facetious writer of" the fore^oiujif Bonj^, makes a distin^ui.-licil
ii^^iirc among the Oxford wits so humourously enumerated in the following;
distieh :

'Alma novem gcnult ctlebres lUicdyciiia poetas
Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, Carey, Tickel, Evans.'

These were Bub Dodington (the late lord Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, our poet
Grubb, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapj) the poctiy-professor, Dr. Edw. Young the author
of Night-Tlioughts, Waller Carey, Thomas Tickel, Esq ; and Dr. Evans, the
epigrammatist.

As for our poet Grubb, all tliat we can leara further of him, is contained in
a few extracts from the University Register, and from his epitaph. It appears
from the former that he was matriculated in 16G7, being the son of John
Grubb, ' De Acton lUirnel in comitatu Salop, pauperis.' IJe took his degree
of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1071 : and became Master of Arts, June 28,
1075. He was appointed Head Master of the Grammar School at Christ
Church : and afterwards chosen into the same employment at Gloucester,
where he died in 1097, as appears from his monument in the church of St. Mary
de Crypt in Gloucester, which is inscribed with the following Epitaph :

H. s. E.

Johannes Grubb, A. M.

Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi

Anno Dom. 1645.

Cujus variam in Unguis notitiam,

et felicem erudicndis pueris industriam,

grata adlnic meraoria testatur Oxonium :

Ibi enira iEdi Christi initiatus,

artes excoluit;

Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas

accurate formavit :

Hue demum

unanimi omiuum consensu accitus,

eaudem suscepit provinciam,

quam feliciter adeo absolvit,

ut nihil optandum sit

nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset :

Fuit enim

propter festivam ingenij suavitateni,

simplicem morum candorem, et

praecipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam,

omnibus desideratissimus.

Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno Dni. 1697.

^tatis suae 51.

MAUGARET'iS GHOST. 273

XYI.
MARGARET'S GHOST.

This ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or before
the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq; who in the edition
of his poems, 3 vols. 1750, informs us that the plan was suggested by the four
verses quoted above in pag. 99, which he supposed to be the beginning of
some ballad now lost.

* These hues,' says he, ' naked of ornament and simple as they are, struck my
fancy ; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked
of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was written many years
ago.'

The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) had originally
more of the ballad simplicity, viz.

When all was wrapt in dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep, &c.i

TwAs at the silent solemn hour,

When night and morning meet;
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,

And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like an April morn, 5

Clad in a wintry cloud:
And clay-cold was her Hly hand.

That held her sable shrewd.

So shall the fairest face appear,

Wlien youth and years are flowai : lo

Such is the robe that kings must wear,

T\^en death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower.

That sips the silver dew;
The rose was budded in her cheek, 15

Just opening to the view.

But love had, lilvo the canker worm,
Consum'd her early prime :

' This ballad was first published in Aaron Hill's 'Plain Dealer,' July 21,
1724.— Ed.

VOL. TIT. S

274 KELIQCES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ;

She dy'd before her time. 20

* Awake!' she cry'd, *thj true love calls,

Come from her midnight grave ;
Now let thy pity hear the maid.

Thy love refused to save.

This is the dark and dreary hour, 25

Wlien injm-'d ghosts complain;
Now yawning graves give up their dead.

To haunt the faitliless swain.

Bethink thee, WiUiam, of thy fault.

Thy pledge, and broken oath : so

And give me back my maiden vow,
And give me back my troth.

Wliy did you promise love to me.

And not that promise keep *?
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 35

Yet leave those eyes to weepi

How could you say my face was fair.

And yet that face forsake 1
How could you win my virgin heart.

Yet leave that heart to break 1 40

Why did you say my lip was sweet.

And made the scarlet palel
And why did I, young witless maid.

Believe the flattering talel

That face, alas! no more is fair; 45

These lips no longer red :

Margaret's ghost. 275

Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in dcatli,
And every charm is fled.

The hungry worm my sister is ;

This TVTQduig-sheet I wear : 6o

And cold and weary lasts our night,

Till that last morn appear.

But hark! the cock has warn'd me hence!

A long and last adieu!
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55

Who dy'd for love of you/

The lark sang loud ; the morning smiFd,

With beams of rosy red :
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb.

And raving left his bed. eo

He hyed him to the fatal place,

Wliere Margaret's body lay ;
And stretched him on the grass-green turf.

That wi'apt her breathless clay.

And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 65

And thrice he wept full sore :
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,

And word spake never more.

♦** In a late publication, intitled, 'The Friends,' &c. Lond. 1773, 2 vols.
12mo (in the first volume), is inserted a copy of the foregoing ballad, with
very gi-cat variations, which the editor of that work contends was the original ;
and that Mallet adopted it for his own and altered it as here given. But the
superior beauty and simplicity of the present copy, gives it so much more the
air of an original, that it will rather be believed that some transcriber altered
it from Mallt't'H, and adapted the lines to his own taste ; th.in which nothing
is more common in ])opular songs and ballads.

27C RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETltY.

XVII.
LUCY AND COLIX.

was written by Thomas Tickel, Esq ; the celebrated friend of ^Ir.

Addison, and editor of his works. lie was son of a clerj^yman in the north
of England, had his education at Queen's College, Oxon, was under secretary
to Mr, Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively secretaries of state ; and
was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed secretary to the Lords Justices in Ire-
land, which place he held till his death in 1740. He acquired Mr. Addison's
patronage by a poem in praise of the opera of Rosamond, written while he
was at the University.

It is a tradition in Ireland, that this song was written at Castletown, in
the county of Kildare, at tlie request of the then Mrs. ConoUy — probably on
some event recent in that neighbourhood.^

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair.

Bright Lucy was the grace ;
Nor ere did LifFy's limpid stream

Reflect so fair a face.

Till luckless love, and pining care 5

Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh! have you seen a lily pale,

When beating rains descend'? lo

So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;

Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains.

Take heed, ye easy fair :
Of vengeance due to broken vows, 15

Ye perjured swains, beware.

Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;

1 Gray calls this the 'prettiest ballad' in the world.— Ed.

LUCY AND COLIN. 277

And at licr window, shrieking thrice.

The raven flap'd his wing. 20

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew

That solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke

The vu'gins w^eeping round,

' I hear a voice, you cannot hear, 25

Which says, I must not stay : >
I see a hand, you cannot see,

Wliich beckons me away.

By a false heart, and broken vows,

In early youth I die. 30

Am I to blame because his bride

Is thrice as rich as I '?

Ah Colin! give not her thy vows;

Vows due to me alone :
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 35

Nor think him all thy own.

To-morrow in the church to wed.

Impatient, both prepare ;
But know, fond maid, and know, false man.

That Lucy will be there. 40

Then bear my corse ; ye comrades, bear.

The bridegroom blithe to meet ;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,

I in my winding-sheet.'

She spoke, she dy'd ; — her corse was borne, 45
The bridegroom l^lithe to meet ;

278 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETIIY.

He in his wedding trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?

How were those nuptials kept ? so

The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,

And all the village wept.

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair

At once his bosom swell :
The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55

He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride (ah bride no more !)

The varying crimson fled,
Wlien, stretched before her rival's corse,

She saw her husband dead. eo

Then to liis Lucy's new-made grave,

Convey'd by trembling swains.
One mould with her, beneath one sod.

For ever now remains.

Oft at their gTave the constant hind 65

And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots

They deck the sacred green-
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art.

This hallo w'd spot forbear; 70

Remember Colin's dreadful fate.

And fear to meet him there.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 279

XVIII.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE,

AS REVISED AND ALTERED BY A MODERN HAND.

Mr, ATliartou in his ingenious Observations on Spenser, has given his
opinion, that the fiction of the Boy and the Mantle is taken from an okl
French piece intitled ' Le court Mantel ' quoted by M. de St. Palaye in his
ciu-ious 'Memoires sur I'ancienne Clievalerie,' Paris, 1759, 2 torn. 12mo5
who tells us the story resembles that of Ariosto's enchanted cup. 'Tis possible
our English poet may have taken the hint of this subject from that old French
Romance, but he does not appear to have copied it in the manner of execu-
tion : to which (if one may judge from the specimen given in the Memoires)
that of the ballad docs not bear the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most
likely that all the old stories concerning K. Arthur are originally of British
growth, and that what the French and other southern nations have of this
kind, were at first exported from this island. See Memoires de I'Acad. des
Inscrip. torn. xx. p. 352. [Since this volume was printed off, the ' Fabliaux
ou Contes' 1781, 5 tom. 12mo, of M. Le Grand, have come to hand: and in
tom. I. p. 54 he hath printed a modern version of the old tale 'Le Court
Mantel,' under a new title, ' Le Manteau maltailld ; ' which contains the story
of this ballad much enlarged, so far as regards the mantle ; but without any
mention of the knife, or the horn. Addit. Note Ed. 1794.]

In Carleile dwelt king Arthur,

A prince of passing might ;
And there maintained his table round,

Beset with many a knight.

And there he kept his Christmas 5

With mirth and prmcely cheare,

Wien, lo! a straunge and cunning boy
Before him did appeare.

A kii-tle, and a mantle

This boy had him upon, 10

With brooches, rings, and owches
Full daintily bcdone.

280 UELIQUES OF ANCIENT rOETllY.

Ho had a sarke of silk

About his middle meet;
And thus, with seemely curtesy, 15

He did king Ai'thur greet.

* God speed thee, brave Idng Arthur,

Thus feasting m thy bowre.
And Gucnever thy goodly queen,

That fair and peerlesse flowre. 20

Ye gallant lords, and lordings,

I \\dsh you all take heed.
Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose

Should prove a cankred weed/

Then straitway from his bosome 25

A little wand he di'ew;
And with it eke a mantle

Of wondrous shape, and hew.

* Now have thou here, king Arthur,

Have this here of mee, 30

And give unto thy comely queen,
AU-shapen as you see.

No wife it shall become.

That once hath been to blame.'

Then every knight in Arthur's com't 85

Slye glaunced at his dame.

And first came lady Guenever,

The mantle she must trye.
This dame, she was new-fangled,

And of a roving eye. 40

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 281

"Wlien she had tane the mantle,

And all was with it cladde,
From top to toe it shiver'd down.

As tho' with sheers beshradde.

One while it was too long, 45

Another while too short,
And wrinlded on her shoulders

In most miseemly sort.

Now green, now red it seemed,

Then all of sable hue. 50

* Beshrew me,' quoth Idng Arthur,

* I think thou beest not true.'

Down she threw the mantle,

Ne longer would not stay;
But stormmg hke a fury, 55

To her chamber flung away.

She curst the whoreson weaver,

That had the mantle wrought :
And doubly cm'st the froward impe.

Who thither had it brought. eo

'&'

* I had rather live in desarts

Beneath the gTeen-wood tree :
Than here, base king, among thy groomes,
The spoil of them and thee.'

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 65

And bade her to come near :

* Yet dame, if thou be guilty,

I pray thee now forbear.'

282 REUQUES OP ANCIENT POETRY.

llii.s lady, pertly gigling,

With forward step came on, 70

And boldly to the little boy

With fearless face is gone.

Wlien she had tane the mantle,

With purpose for to wear :
It shiimk up to her shoulder, 75

And left her b''''"'side bare.

Then every merry knight,

That was in Arthur's court,
Gib'd, and laught, and flouted,

To see that pleasant sport. so

Downe she threw the mantle.

No longer bold or gay.
But with a face all pale and wan,

To her chamber slunk away.

Then forth came an old knight, 85

A pattering o'er his creed ;
And profFer'd to the little boy

Five nobles to his meed ;

' And all the time of Christmass

Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 9o

If thou w^ilt let my lady fair

Within the mantle shine.'

A saint his lady seemed.

With step demure, and slow.
And gravely to the mantle 95

With mhicing pace doth goe.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 283

Wlien she the same had taken,

Tliat was so fine and thin,
It shrivcU'd all about her.

And show'd her dainty skin. loo

Ah ! little did her mincing,

Or his long prayers bestead ;
She had no more hung on her.

Than a tassel and a thread.

Down she threwe the mantle, 105

With teiTor and dismay.
And, with a face of scarlet.

To her chamber hyed away.

Sir Cradock call'd his lady,

And bade her to come neare : no

* Come win this mantle, lady,

And do me credit here.

Come win this mantle, lady.

For now it shall be thine,
If thou hast never done amiss, 115

Sith first I made thee mine/

The lady gently blushing.

With modest grace came on.
And now to trye the wondrous charm

Courageously is gone. 120

When she had tane the mantle.

And put it on her backe,
About the hem it seemed

To wrinkle and to craoko.

284 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

*Lye still/ slice crycJ, '0 mantle! 125

And sliamc mc not for nought,

1 11 freely own whatever amiss.
Or blameful I have wrought.

Once I kist Sir Cradocke

Beneathe the green wood tree : i3o

Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth

Before he married mee/

Wlien thus she had her shriveni.

And her worst fault had told.
The mantle soon became her 135

Bight comely as it shold.

Most rich and fair of colour,

Like gold it glittering shone :
And much the knights in Arthur's court

Admir'd her every one. i40

Then towards Idno* Arthm-'s table

The boy he turn'd his eye :
Wliere stood a boar's-head garnished
With bayes and rosemarye.

T\Tien thrice he o'er the boar's head 145

His little wand had drawme,
Quoth he, ' There 's never a cuckold's knife,

Can carve this head of brawne.'

Then some their whittles rubbed

On whetstone, and on hone : 15'

Some threw^e them under the table.

And sw^ore that they had none.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 285

Sir Cradock liad a little knifo

Of steel and iron made ;
And in an instant thro' the skull 155

He thrust the shinino; blade.

He thrust the sliming blade

Full easily and fast :
And every knight in Arthui^s court

A morsel had to taste. I60

The boy brought forth a home.

All golden was the rim :
Said he, ' No cuckolde ever can

Set mouth unto the brim.

No cuckold can this little home i65

Lift fairly to his head ;
But or on this, or that side.

He shall the liquor shed.'

Some shed it on then- shoulder.

Some shed it on their thigh; 170

And hee that could not hit his mouth,

Was sure to hit his eye.

Thus he, that was a cuckold.

Was known of every man :
But Cradock lifted easily, 175

And wan the golden can.

Thus boar's head, horn and mantle

Were this fair couple's meed :
And all such constant lovers,

God send them well to speed. iso

286 IIKLIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Then down in rago came Giienever,
And thus could spiglitful say,

* Sir Cradock's wife most wrongfully

Hatli borne the prize away.

See yonder shameless woman, 185

That makes herself e so clean :
Yet from her pillow taken

Thiice five gallants have been.

Priests, clarkes, and wxdded men

Have her lewd pillow prest : 190

Yet she the wonderous prize forsooth
Must beare from all the rest/

Then bespake the little boy.
Who had the same in hold :

* Chastize thy wife, king Arthur, 196

Of speech she is too bold :

Of speech she is too bold.

Of carriage all too free ;
Sir king, she hath within thy hall

A cuckold made of thee. 200

All frolick light and wanton

She hath her carriage borne :
And given thee for a kingly crown

To wear a cuckold's home.'

*^* The Rev. Evan Evans, editor of the 'Specimens of Welsh Poetry,' 4tc.
affirmed that the story of the Boy and the Mantle is taken from what is re-
lated in some of the old Welsh MSS. of Tegan Earfron, one of King Arthm-'s
mistresses. She is said to have possessed a mantle that would not fit any
immodest or meontinent woman ; this (which, the old writers say, was
reckoned among the curiosities of Britain) is frequently alluded to by the old
AYelsh Bards.

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 287

Carleile, so often mentioned iu the ballads of K. Arthur, the editor once
thought might probably be a corruption of Caer-leon, an ancient British city
on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, wliich was one of the places of" K.
Arthur's chief residence ; but he is now convinced, tliat it is no other than
Carlisle, in Cumberland; the Old English Minstrels, being most of them
Northern Men, naturally represented the Hero of Romance as residing in the
North : And many of the places mentioned in the Old Ballads are still to be
found there : As Tearue-Wadling, &c.

Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, surrounded by a mound of earth,
which retains the name of Aithur's Round Table.

XIX.

THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE
MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

The Second Poem in this Volume, intitled The Marriage of Sir Gawaine,
having been offered to the reader with large conjectural supplements and
corrections, the old Fragment itself is here literally and exactly printed from
the Editor's folio MS. with all its defects, inaccuracies, and errata ; that such
austere Antiquaries, as complain that the ancient copies have not been always
rigidly adhered to, may see how unfit for publication many of the pieces would
have been, if all the blunders, corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate reciters
and transcribers had been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to
correct and emend them.

This ballad had most unfortunately suffered by having half of every leaf in
this part of the MS. torn away ; and, as about nine stanzas generally occur in
the half page now remaining, it is concluded, that the other half contained
nearly the same number of stanzas.

KiNGE Arthur liues in merry Carleile
and seemely is to see

and there lie hath w*^ him Queene Genev'
y* bride so bright of bice

And there he hath w*^ him Queene Gencvcr

y* bride soe bright in bower

& all his barons about him stoodo

y* were l)oth stiffc & stowre

288 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Tlio K. kept a royall Cliristmasso
of mirth & groat honor
. . when . . .

[About Nine Stanzas wanting^

And bring me word what thing it is
y^ a woman most desire
this shalbe thy ransome Arthur he sayes
for He haue noe other hier

K. Arthur then held vp his hand
according thene as was the law
he tooke his leaue of the baron there
and homword can he draw

And when he came to Merry Carlile

to his chamber he is gone

and ther came to him his Cozen S** Gawaine

as he did make liis mono

And there came to him his Cozen S'' Cawaine ^
y* was a curteous knight
why sigh yo"" soe sore vnclde Arthur he said
or who hath done thee vnright

0 peace o peace thou gentle Gawaine
y* faire may thee be ffall
for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe
thou wold not meruaile att all

Ffor when I came to tearne wadling
a bold barren there I fand
w*^ a great club vpon liis backe
standing stiffe & strong

iSic.

THE MAlllUAGE OF Sill GAWAINE. 289

And he asked me wether I wold fidit
or from him I shold be gone
0 ^ else I must him a ransome pay
& soe dep't him from

To fight w*^ him I saw noe cause
me thought it was not meet
for he w^as stiffe & strong w*^ all
his strokes were nothing sweete

Therfor this is my ransome Gawaine
I ought to him to pay
I must come againe as I am sworne
vpon the Newyeers day

And I must brmg him word what thing it is

[About Nine Stanzas ivanting.^

Then king Arthur drest him for to ryde.
in one soe rich array
toward the foresaid Tearne wadling
y* he might keep his day

And as he rode over a more
liee see a lady where shoe sate
betwixt an oke and a greene hollen
she was cladd m red scarlett

Then there as shold have stood her mouth

then there was sett her eye

the other was in her forhcad fast

the way that she might see

Her nose was crooked & turnd outward
her mouth stood foule a wry

1 Sic.
VOL. III. T

290 llELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

a worse formed lady tlien was shoe
neuerman saw w^*' his eye

To lialch vpon liim k. Arthur
this lady was full fame
but k. Arthur had forgott his lesson
what he shold say againe

What knight art thou the lady sayd
that wilt not speake tome
of me thou nothing dismayd
tho I be vgly to see

for I haue halched yo" curteouslye
& yo"" will not me againe
yett I may happen S" knight shee said
to ease thee of thy paine

Giue thou ease me lady he said

or helpe me any thing

thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine my cozen

& marry him w*^ a ring

Why if I helpe thee not thou noble k. Arthur
of thy owne hearts desninge
of gentle Gawaine

[About Nine Stanzas wanting^

And when he came to the tearne wadling
the baron there cold he srinde ^
w*^ a great weapon on his backe

standing stiffe & stronge

And then he tooke k. Arthurs letters in his hands
& away he cold them fling

Sic MS.

THE MARUlA(iE OF 8111 GAWAINK. 291

& tlicn he puld out a good browne sword
& ciyd himself a k.

And he sayd I haiie thee & thy land Arthur

to doe as it pleaseth me

for this is not thy ransome sure

thcrfore yeeld thee to me

And then bespoke liim noble Arthur
& bad him hold his hands
& give me leave to speake my mind
in defence of all my land

the ^ said as I came over a More
I see a lady where shee sate
between an oke & a green hoUen
shee was clad in red scarlette

And she says a woman will haue her will
& this is all her cheef desu'e
doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill
this is thy ransome & all thy hyer

He sayes an early vengeance light on her
she walkes on yonder more
it was my sister that told thee this
she is a misshappen here

But heer He make mine avow to god
to do her an euill turne
for an cuer I may thate fowle theefe get
in a fyer I will her burne

[About Nine Stanzas ivantinr/.^

1 Sic MS.

292 KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETIIV.

THE SECOND PART.

Sir Lancelott & s' Steven bold
tliey rode w*^ them that day
and the formost of the company
there rode the steward Kay

Soe did S"" Banier & S"* Bore
S*" Garrett w**" them soe gay
soe did S"" Tristeram y* gentle k*
to the forrest fresh & gay

And when he came to the greene forrest
vnderneath a greene holly tree
their sate that lady in red scarlet
y* vnseemly was to see

S"" Kay beheld this Ladys face
& looked vppon her suire
whosoeuer kisses this lady he sayes
of his kisse he stands in feare

S'' Kay beheld the lady againe
& looked vpon her snout
whosoeuer kisses this lady he saies
of his kisse he stands in doubt

Peace coz. Kay then said S"* Gawaine
amend thee of thy life
for there is a knight amongst us all
y* must marry her to his wife

What wedd her to wiffe then said S'" Kay

in the diuells name anon

gett me a wdffe where ere I may

for 1 had rather be slaine

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 293

TIicii soomo tookc vp tlicir liawkcs in liast
& some tooko vp tlicir lioiinds
Sc sonic swarc tlicy wold not many her
for Citty nor for towne

And then be spake him noljle k. Arthur

& swarc there by this day

for a litlc foule sight & misliking

[About Nine Stanzas ivantincj.^

Then shee said choose thee gentle Gawaine
truth as I doe say

wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse
in the night or else in the day

And then bespake him Gentle Gawaine
w*^ one soe mild of moode
sayes well I know what I wold say
god gTant it may be good

To haue thee fowle in the night
when I w*^ thee shold play
yet I had rather if I might
haue thee fowle in the day

What when Lords goe w*^ tlier seircs ^ slice said

both to the Ale & wine

alas then I must hyde my selfe

I must not goe withinne

And then bespake him gentle gawaine
said Lady thats but a skill
And because thou art my owne lady
thou slialt haue all thy will

^Sic ill MS. proyl'/Vcf, /, e, ]\ratcs.

2.04 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETKY.

Tliuii «lio said bloseil be tliou gentle Clawtiino

this day y^ I tlicc see

for as tlioii see me att this time

from hencforth I wilbe

My father was an old knight
& yett it chanced soe
that he marryed a younge lady
y* brought me to this woe

Shoe witched me being a faire young Lady
to the greene forrest to dwell
& there I must walke in womans likncsse
most like a feeind of hell

She witched my brother to a Carlist B . . . .

[About Nine Stanzas wanting.^

that looked soe foule & that was w^ont
on the wild more to goe

Come kisse her Brother Kay then said S" Gawaine

k amend the of thy liffe

I sweare this is the same lady

y* I marryed to my wiffe.

S"" Kay kissed that lady bright
standing vpon his fFeete
he sw^ore as he was trew knight
the spice was neuer soe sweete

Well Coz. Gawaine saies S^ Kay

thy chance is fallen arright

for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids

I euer saw w*^ my sight

THE MAURI AGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 295

It is my foi*iunc said S"" Gawaiiie
for my Vnckle Arthurs sake
I am glad as grasse wold be of raine
great Joy that I may take

S"" Gawaine tooke the lady by the one armo
S"" Kay tooke her by the tother
they led her straight to k. Artlmr
as they were brother & brother

K. Arthur welcomed them there all
& soe did lady Geneuer his queene
w*^ all the knights of the round table
most seemly to be seene

K. Arthur beheld that lady faire
that was soe faire & bright
he thanked christ in trinity
for S*" Gawaine that gentle knight

Soe did the knights both more and Icsse
reioyced all that day
for the good chance y* hapened was
to S"" Gawaine & his lady §'ay. Ffinis.

THE

HEEMIT OF WAEKWOETH.

£ ifioutljumberlanti Sallati^

BISHOP PErcCY.

TO HER GRACE

ELIZABETH,

DUCHESS AND COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND,
IN HER OWN RIGHT BARONESS PERCY,

&c. &c. &c.

Down in a northern vale wild flowrets grew,
And lent new sweetness to the summer gale;
The Muse there found them all remote from view,
Obscur'd with weeds, and scattered o'er the dale.

O Lady, may so slight a gift prevail.
And at your gracious hands acceptance find?
Say, may an ancient legendary tale
Amuse, delight, or move the polish'd mind?

Surely the cares and woes of human kind,
Tho' simply told, will gain each gentle ear :
But all for you the Muse her lay design'd,
And bade your noble Ancestors appear;

She seeks no other praise, if you commend
Her great protectress, patroness, and friend.

THE IIEUMIT OF WAKKWORTH. 299

ADVERTISEMENT.

AV'arkwortii Castle in Northumberland stands very boldly on a neck of land
near the sea-shore, almost surrounded by the river Coquet, (called by our
old Latin Historians, Coqueda) which runs with a clear rapid stream, but
when swoln with rains becomes violent and dangerous.

About a mile from tiie Castle, in a deep romantic valley, are the remains of
a Hermitage; of which the Chapel is still intlre. This is hollowed with great
elegance in a cliif near the river ; as are also two adjoining apartments, which
probably served for an Antechapel and Vestry, or were appropriated to
some other sacred uses : for the former of these, which runs parallel with the
Chapel, is thought to have had an Altar in it, at which Mass was occasionally
celebrated, as well as in the Chapel itself.

Each of these apartments is extremely small ; for that which was the prin-
cipal Chapel does not in length exceed eighteen feet ; nor is more than seven
feet and a half in breadth and height : it is however very beautifully designed
and executed in the solid rock ; and has all the decorations of a complete
Gothic Church or Cathedral in miniature.

But what principally distinguishes the Chapel, is, a small Tomb or Slonu-
mcut, on the south-side, the altar : on the top of which lies a Female Figure
extended in the manner that effigies are usually exhibited praying on ancient
tombs. This figure, which is very delicately designed, some have ignorantly
called an image of the Virgin Mary ; though it has not the least resemblance
to the manner in which she is represented in the Romish Churches ; who is
usually erect, as the object of adoration, and never in a prostrate or recum-
bent posture. Indeed the real image of the Blessed Virgin probably stood in
a small nich, still visible behind the altar : whereas the figure of a Bull's
Head, w^hich is rudely carved at this Lady's feet, the usual place for the Crest
in old monuments, plainly proves her to have been a very ditferent personage.

About the tomb are several other Figures, which as well as the principal one
above-mentioned, are cut in the natural rock, in the same manner as the little
Chapel itself, with all its Ornaments, and the two adjoining Apartments.
^Vhat slight traditions are scattered through the country concerning the origin
and foundation of this Hermitage, Tomb, &c. are delivered to the reader in
the following rhymes.

It is universally agreed, that the Founder was one of the Bertram family,
which had once considerable possessions in Northumberland, and were anciently
Lords of Bothal Castle, situate about ten miles from AYarkworth. He has
been thought to be the same Bertram, that endowed Brinkburn Priory, and
built Brenkshaugh Chapel: which both stand in the same winding valley,
iiigher up the river.

But Brinkburn Priory was founded in the reign of K. Henry L^ whereas
the form of the Gothic Windows in this Chapel, especially of those near tlie
altar, is found rather to resemble the style of architecture that prevailed about
the reign of K. Edward HL And indeed that the sculpture in this Chapel
cannot be much older, appears from the Crest which is })laced at the Lady's
feet ou the tomb; for Camden^ informs us, that armorial Crests did not
become hereditary till about the reign of K. Edward H.
^ lunmji'b Mon. Ang. — ^'Sou his Ituiuaius.

300 KELIQUES OK ANCIENT rOETIlY.

These «'i})i)c;uaiicoH still extant, stroll;,'!}' con !1 rill the account given In die
Ibllowiny; poem, and plainly prove that the lieriuit of Waikworth was not the
^anie person that founded lii Inkburn Priory in the twelfth century, but rather
one of the Bertram family, who lived at a later period.

*** Fit was the word used by the old minstrels to sif^uify a Part or Division
(•f their Historical Songs, and was peculiarly appropriated to this kind of
eomposiiions. See Ueliques of Ancient Eug. Poetry, Vol. II. p. IGG and '6'J7.
2d Ed.

FIT THE FIRST.

1 Dark was the night, and wild the storm.

And loud the torrent's roar;
And loud the sea was heard to dash
Against the distant shore.

2 Musing on man's weak hapless state.

The lonely Hermit lay;
"Wlien, lo ! he heard a female voice
Lament in sore dismay.

3 With hospitable haste he rose,

And w^ak'd his sleeping fire ;

And snatching up a lighted brand,

Forth hied the reverend sire.

4 All sad beneath a neighbouring tree

A beauteous maid he found.
Who beat her breast, and vnth her tears
Bedew'd the mossy ground.

5 0 weep not, lady, weep not so;

Nor let vam fears alarm ;
My little cell shall shelter thee.
And keep thee safe from harm.

6 It is not for myself I weep,

Nor for myself I fear;

THE IIEinilT OF WARKWORTir. 301

But for n\y dear and only friend,
Who lately left me here :

7 And while some sheltering bower he sought

Within this lonely wood,
Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet
Have slipt in yonder flood.

8 0 ! trust in heaven, the Hermit said,

And to my cell repair ;
Doubt not but I shall find thy friend,
And ease thee of thy care.

9 Then climbing up his rocky stairs.

He scales the cliffs so high ;
And calls aloud, and waves his light
To guide the stranger's eye.

10 Among the thickets long he winds.

With careful steps and slow:

At length a voice retm^n'd his call.

Quick answering from below :

1 1 0 tell me, father, tell me true.

If you have chanc'd to see
A gentle maid, I lately left

Beneath some neighbouring tree:

12 But either I have lost the place.

Or she hath gone astray:
And much I fear this fatal stream
Hath snatcli'd her hence away.

13 Praise heaven, my son, the Hermit said;

The lady 's safe and well :

302 IIKLIQUES OF A^X'IENT POETRY.

And soon lie joiiAl the wandering youth.
And brought liini to his cell.

1 4 Then well was seen, these gentle friends

They lov'd each other dear :
The youth he press'd her to his heart ;
The maid let fall a tear.

15 Ah! seldom had their host, I ween.

Beheld so sweet a pair :
The youth was tall with manly bloom,
She slender, soft, and fair.

1 6 The youth was clad in forest green,

With bugle-horn so bright :

She in a silken robe and scarf

Snatched up in hasty flight.

17 Sit down, my children, says the Sage;

Sweet rest your limbs require :
Then heaps fresh fewel on the hearth.
And mends his little fire.

18 Partake, he said, my simple store.

Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;
And spreading all upon the board.
Invites with kindly words.

19 Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare;

The youtliful couple say:
Then freely ate, and made good chear,
And talk'd then* cares away.

20 Now say, my children, (for perchance

My counsel may avail)

THE HERMIT OF WARKWOllTII. 803

What strange adventure brought you hero
Witliin this lonely dale 1

21 First tell me, father, said the youth,

(Nor blame mine eager tongue)
Wliat toA\Ti is nearl AVhat lands are these'?
And to what lord belong'?

22 Alas! my son, the Hermit said,

Why do I live to say,
The rightful lord of these domains
Is banish'd far away 1

23 Ten winters now have shed their snows

On this my lowly hall.
Since valiant Hotspur (so the North
Our youthful lord did call)

24 Against Fom^th Henry Bolingbroke

Led up his northern powers.
And stoutly fighting lost his life
Near proud Salopia's towers.

25 One son he left, a lovely boy.

His country's hope and heir ;
And, oh ! to save him from his foes
It was his gTandsire's care.

26 In Scotland safe he plac'd the child

Beyond the reach of strife.
Nor long before the brave old Earl
At Bramham lost his life.

27 And now the Percy name, so long

Our northern pride and boast.

304 UEUQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Lies hid, alas! beneath a cloud;
Tlieir honours reft and lost.

28 No chieftain of that noble house

Now leads our youth to arms ;
The bordering Scots dispoil our fields,
And ravage all our farms.

29 Their halls and castles, once so fair,

Now moulder in decay;
Proud strangers now usurp their lands.
And bear their wealth away.

30 Nor far from hence, where yon full stream

Kuns wdnding down the lea.
Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers.
And overlooks the sea.

31 Those towers, alas! now lie forlorn,

"With noisome weeds o'erspred,
AVhere feasted lords and courtly dames.
And where the poor were fed.

32 Meantime far off, mid Scottish hills

The Percy lives unknown :
On stranger's bounty he de23ends.
And may not claim his own.

33 0 might I with these aged eyes

But live to see him here.
Then should my soul depart in bliss! —
He said, and dropt a tear.

34 And is the Percy still so lov'd

Of all his friends and thee ?

THE HERMIT OF WARK WORTH. 305

Tlion, fatlier, bless me, said the youth,
For I thy guest am he.

35 Silent he gaz'd, then turned aside

To wipe the tears he shed;
And lifting up his hands and eyes,
Pour'd blessings on his head :

36 Welcome, our dear and much-lov'd lord.

Thy country's hope and care :
But w^ho may this young lady be,
That is so wonderous fair 1

37 Now, father, listen to my tale,

And thou shalt know the truth :
And let thy sage advice direct
My unexperienc'd youth.

38 In Scotland I Ve been nobly bred

Beneath the Begent's hand,^
In feats of arms, and every lore
To fit me for command.

39 With fond impatience long I burn'd

My native land to see :
At length I won my guardian friend,
To yield that boon to me.

40 Then up and down in hunter's garb

I w^andered as in chace,
Till in the noble Neville's house ^
I gain'd a hmiter's place.

1 Robert Stuart, Duke of Albany. See the continuator of Fordiin's Scoti-
Chronicon, cap. 18, cap. 23, &c. — ^ Ralph Neville, first Earl of Westmoreland,
whose principal residence was at Eaby castle, in the bishoprick of Diuham.

VOL. III. U

'U)i] RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

41 Sometime with him I liv'd mikiiown.

Till I 'd the hap so rare
To please this young and gentle dame,
That baron s daughter fair.

42 Now, Percy, said the blushing maid,

The truth I must reveal ;
Souls gi'eat and generous, like to thine.
Their noble deeds conceal.

43 It happened on a summer s day,

Led by the fragrant breeze
I wandered forth to take the air
Among the green-wood trees.

44 Sudden a band of rugged Scots,

That near in ambush lay,
Moss-troopers from the border-side.
There seized me for their prey.

45 My shrieks had all been spent in vain,

But heaven, that saw my grief.
Brought this brave youth within my call.
Who flew to my relief.

46 With nothing but his hunting spear,

And dagger in his hand,
He sprung like lightning on my foes,
And caused them soon to stand.

47 He fought, till more assistance came;

The Scots were overthrown ;
Thus freed me, captive, from their bands
To make me more his own.

THE HERMIT OF WAliKWORTII. 307

48 0 liappy day ! the youth replied:

Blest were the wounds I bare !
From that fond hour she dcign'd to smile,
And listen to my prayer.

49 And when she knew my name and birth,

She vowed to be my bride ;
But oh ! we fear'd (alas, the while !)
Her princely mother's pride :

50 Sister of haughty Bolingbroke,^

Our house's ancient foe,
To me, I thought, a banish'd mght.
Could ne'er such favour show.

51 Despairing then to gain consent;

At length to fly with me
I won this lovely timorous maid;
To Scotland bound are we.

52 This evening, as the night drew on.

Fearing we were pursu'd.
We tm-n'd adown the right-hand path,
And gain'd this lonely wood :

53 Then lighting from our weary steeds

To shun the pelting shower.
We met thy kind conducting hand.
And reach'd this friendly bower.

54 Now rest ye both, the Hennit said;

Awhile your cares f orgoe :

1 Joan, Countess of Westmoreland, mother of the young lady, was daughter
of John of Gaunt, and half-sister of King Henry IV.

3U8 KEUQUES OF ANCIKNT POETRY.

Nor, Lady, sconi my 1 nimble bed
— We 11 pass the niglit below/

FIT THE SECOND.

1 Lovely smil'd the blushing morn,

And every storm was fled :
But lovelier far, with sweeter smile,
Fair Eleanor left her bed.

2 She found her Henry all alone,

And cheer'd him with her sight ;

The youth consulting with his friend

Had watch'd the livelong night.

3 What sweet surprize o'erpower'd her breast?

Her cheek what blushes dyed,
When fondly he besought her there
To yield to be his bride?

4 Within this lonely hermitage

There is a chapel meet :
Then gTant, dear maid, my fond request.
And make my bless compleat.

5 0 Henry, when thou deign'st to sue.

Can I thy suit withstand?
When thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heart.
Can I refuse my hand?

6 For thee I left a father's smiles.

And mother s tender care ;

1 Adjoining to tiie cliff which contains the Chapel of the Hermitage, are the
remains of a small building, in wliich the Hennit dwelt. This consisted of
one lower apartment, with a little bedchamber over it, and is now in niins:
whereas the little Chapel, cut in the solid rock, is still very intire and perfect.

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 30 P

And whether weal or woe betide,
Thy lot I mean to share.

7 And wilt thou then, 0 generous maid.

Such matchless favour show.
To share \\dth me a banish'd ^vight
My peril, pain, or woe?

8 Now heaven, I trust, hath joys in storo

To crown thy constant breast ;
For, know, fond hope assures my heart
That we shall soon be blest.

9 Not fcxr from hence stands Coquet Isle

Surromided by the sea;
There dwells a holy friar, well-known
To all thy friends and thee ■}

10 Tis Father Bernard, so revered

For every worthy deed;
To Eaby castle he shall go, ■:

And for us kindly plead.

1 1 To fetch this good and holy man

Our reverend host is gone ;
And soon, I trust, his pious hands
Will join us both in one.

12 Thus they in sweet and tender talk

The lingering hours beguile :
At length they see the hoary sago
Come from the neighbouring isle.

1 In tlie little island of Coquet, near Warkworth, are still seen the ruins of a
Cell, which belonged to the Benedictine monks of Tinemouth- Abbey.

olO KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

13 Witli pious joy uiitl woiidor mix'd

lie greets the noble pair,
And glad consents to join their hands
With many a fervent prayer.

1 4 Then strait to Raby's distant walls

He kindly wends his way;
Meantime in love and dalliance sweet
They spend the livelong day.

1 5 And now, attended by their host.

The Plermitage they view'd.
Deep-hewn within a craggy cliff,
And ovcrhmig with wood.

1 6 And near, a flight of shapely Steps,

All cut with nicest skill,
And piercing thro' a stony Arch,
Ran winding up the hill.

1 7 There deck'd with many a flower and herb

His little Garden stands ;
With fruitful trees in shady rows.
All planted by his hands.

1 8 Then, scooped within the solid rock.

Three sacred Vaults he shows :
The chief a Chapel, neatly arch'd.
On branching columns rose.

19 Each proper ornament was there.

That should a chapel grace ;
The Latice for confession fram'd,
And Holy- water Vase.

THE nERMIT OF WARKWORTil. 311

20 O'er cither door a sacred Text

Invites to godly fear ;
And in a little Scuclicon hung
The cross, and crown, and spear.

21 Up to the Altar's ample breadth

Two easy steps ascend;
And near, a glimmering solemn light
Two well-wTOuo'ht Windows lend.

22 Beside the altar rose a Tomb

All in the living stone ;
In which a yomig and beauteous Maid
In goodly sculpture shone.

23 A kneeling Angel fairly carv'd

Lean'd hovering o'er her breast ;
A weeping Warrior at her feet ;
And near to these her Crest.^

24 The cliff, the vault, but chief the tomb,

Attract the wondering pair :
Eager they ask, What hapless dame
Lies sculptured here so fair '?

25 The Hermit sigh'd, the Hermit wept.

For sorrow scarce could speak :
At length he wip'd the trickling tears
That all bedewed his cheek.

26 Alas ! my children, human life

Is but a vale of woe ;

1 This is a Bull's Head, the crest of the Wiil(lrin<;ton liimily. All the
Fif^es, &c. here described arc still visible; only somewhat cllaccd with
length of time.

312 IIELIQUES OF AN'CIENT POETIIV.

And very niounifiil is tlio talc,
Wliich yo so fain would know.

THE hermit's tale.

27 Young lord, thy grandsiro had a friend

In days of youthful fame ;
Yon distant hills were his domains,
Sir Bertram was liis name.

28 Where'er the noble Percy fought.

His friend was at his side ;
And many a skirmisli with the Scots
Their early valour try'd.

29 Young Bertram lov'd a beauteous maid.

As fair as fair might be ;
The dew-drop on the lily's cheek
Was not so fair as she.

30 Fair Widdrington the maiden's name.

Yon towers her dwelling place ; ^
Her sire an old Northumbrian chief
Devoted to thy race.

31 Many a lord, and many a knight

To this fair damsel came ;
But Bertram was her only choice ;
For him she felt a flame.

S2 Lord Percy pleaded for his friend,
Her father soon consents ;
None but the beauteous maid herself
His wishes now prevents.

1 Widdrington Castle is about five miles south of VVarkworth.

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTII. 313

33 But she with studied fond delays

Defers the blissfid hour ;
And loves to try his constancy,
And prove her maiden power.

34 That heart, she said, is lightly priz'd,

Which is too lightly won ;
And long shall rue that easy maid
Who yields her love too soon.

35 Lord Percy made a solemn feast

In AlnwTLck's princely hall ;
And there came lords, and there came knights,
His chiefs and barons all.

36 With wassel, mirth, and revelry

The castle rung around :
Lord Percy call'd for song and harp.
And pipes of martial sound.

37 The Minstrels of thy noble house.

All clad in robes of blue.
With silver crescents on their arms.
Attend in order due.

38 The great achievements of thy race

They sung : their high command :
* How valiant Mainfred o'er the seas
First led his northern band.^

39 Brave Galfrid next to Normandy

With venturous liollo came ;

1 See Diigdalc's baronage, &c.

:314 UELIQL'ES OF ANCIENT I'OETUV.

And from his Norman castles won
Assumed the Percy name.^

40 Tlicy sung, how in the Conqueror's fleet

Lord William shipp'd his powers,
And gain'd a fair young- Saxon bride
With all her lands and towers.^

41 Then journeying to the Holy Land,

There bravely fought and dy'd :
But first the silver Crescent wan,
Some Paynim Soldan's pride.

42 They sung how Agnes, beauteous heir,

The queen's own brother wed
Lord Josceline, sprung from Charlemagne,
In princely Brabant bred.^

43 How he the Percy name reviv'd,

And how his noble line
Still foremost in their country's cause
With godlike ardour shine.'

44 With loud acclaims the listening crowd

Applaud the masters' song,

1 In Lower Normandy are three places of the name of Percy, whence the
family took the surname De Percy. — ^ William de Percy (filth in Descent
from Galfrid or Geffrey de Percy, son of Mainfred), assisted in the conquest of
England, and had given him the large possessions in Yorkshire, of Emma de
Porte (so the Norman writers name her), whose father, a great Saxon lord,
had been slain fighting along with Harold. This young lady, William from a
principle of honour and generosity, married : for having had all her lands be-
stowed upon him by the Conqueror, ' he (to use the words of the old Whitby
Chronicle), wedded hyr that was veiy heire to them, in discharging of his
conscience.' See Harl, MSS., 692 (26). He died in Asia, in the first crusade.
— ' Agnes de Percy, sole heiress of her house, married Josceline de Lovain,
youngest son of Godfrey Barbatus, duke of Brabant, and brother of Queen
Adeliza, second wife of king Henry I. He took the name of Percy, and was
ancestor of the earls of Northumberland. His son lord Richard de Percy was
one of the twenty-five barons chosen to sec the Magna Charta duly observed.

THE HERMIT OF WARKWOllTH. 315

And deeds of arms and war became
The theme of every tongue.

45 Now high heroic acts thoy tell,

Their perils past recall :
Wlien, lo ! a damsel young and fair
Stepp'd forward thro' the hall.

46 She Beilram courteously addressed ;

And kneeling on her knee;

Sir knight, the lady of thy love

Hath sent this gift to thee.

47 Then forth she drew a glittering helme

Well-plated many a fold,
The casque was wrought of tempered steel.
The crest of burnished gold.

48 Sir knight, thy lady sends thee this,

And yields to be thy bride,
When thou hast prov'd this maiden gift
Where sharpest blows are try'd.

49 Youno; Bertram took the shinino* helme

And thrice he kiss'd the same :
Trust me, 1 11 prove this precious casque
With deeds of noblest fame.

50 Lord Percy, and his barons bold

Then fix upon a day
To scour the marches, late opprest,
And Scottish wrongs repay.

51 The kniirhts assembled on the hills

A thousand horse and more :

3 If) RELIQUES OK ANCIENT POETRY.

Brave Widdriiigton, tlio' sunk in years,
The Percy-standard bore.

52 Tweed's limpid current soon they pass,

And range the borders round :
Down the green slopes of Tiviotdale
Their bugle-horns resound.

53 As when a lion in his den

Hath heard the hunters cries,
And rushes forth to meet his foes ;
So did the Douglas rise.

54 Attendant on their chiefs command

A thousand warriors wait :
And now the fatal hour drew on
Of cruel keen debate.

55 A chosen troop of Scottish youths

Advance before the rest ;
Lord Percy mark'd their gallant mien,
And thus his friend addressed.

56 Now, Bertram, prove thy Lady's helmc.

Attack yon forward band ;
Dead or alive 1 11 rescue thee,
Or perish by their hand.

57 Young Bertram bow'd, with glad assent,

And spur'd his eager steed.
And calling on his Lady's name,
Rush'd forth with whirlwind speed.

58 As when a grove of saphng oaks

The livid lightnmg rends ;

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 317

So fiercely 'mid the opposiiig ranks
Sir Bertram's sword descends.

59 This way and that he drives the steel,

And keenly pierces thro' ;
And many a tall and comely knight
With furious force he slew.

60 Now closing fast on every side

They hem sir Bertram round :
But dauntless he repels their rage,
And deals forth many a wound.

61 The vigour of his single arm

Had well-nigh won the field ;
When ponderous fell a Scotish ax.
And clove his lifted shield.

62 Another blow his temples took.

And reft his helm in twain ;
That beauteous helm, his Lady's gift !
His blood bedew'd the plain.

63 Lord Percy saw his champion fall

Amid the unequal fight ;
And now, my noble friends, he said,
Let 's save this gallant knight.

64 Then rushing in, with stretch'd out shield

He o'er the warrior hung ;
As some fierce eagle spreads her ^^dng
To guard her callow young.

65 Tliree times they strove to seize their prey,

Three times they quick retire :

318 UEUQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

AVliat force could stand liis furious strokes.
Or meet liis martial firo 1

66 Now gathering round on every part

The battle rag'd amain ;
And many a lady wept her lord
That hour untimely slain.

67 Percy and Douglas, great in arms,

There all their courage show'd ;
And all the field was strew'd with dead,
And all with crimson flow'd.

G8 At length the glory of the day
The Scots reluctant yield,
And, after wonderous valour shown.
They slowly quit the field.

69 All pale extended on their shields

And weltering in his gore
Lord Percy's knights their bleeding friend
To Wark's fair castle bore.

70 Well hast thou earned my daughter's love ;

Her father kindly sed ;
And she herself shall dress thy wounds,
And tend thee in thy bed.

71 A message went; no daughter came,

Fak Isabel ne'er appears :
Beshrew me, said the aged chief,
Young maidens have their fears.

72 Cheer up, my son, thou shalt her see

So soon as thou canst ride ;

THE HERMIT OF WARIv WORTH. 319

And slic shall nurse tlicc in lior bower,
And she shall be thy bride.

73 Sir Bertram, at her name revived,
He bless'd the soothing sound ;
Fond hope supplied the Nm^se's care,
And heal'd his ghastly wound.

*#* Wark Castle, a fortress belonging to the English, and of great note in
ancient times, stood on the sonthcrn bank of the river Tweed, a little to the
east of Tiviotdale, and not far from Kelso. It is now intirely destroyed.

FIT THE THIRD.

1 One early morn, while dewy drops

Hmig trembling on the tree.
Sir Bertram from his sick-bed rose,
His bride he would go see.

2 A brother he had in prime of youth.

Of courage firm and keen;
And he would tend him on the way
Because his wounds were green.

3 All day o'er moss and moor they rode.

By many a lonely tower ;
And 'twas the dew-fall of the nio-lit
Ere they drew near her bower.

4 Most drear and dark the castle seem'd, "

That wont to shine so bright ;
And long and loud sir Bertram call'd
Ere he beheld a light.

5 At length her aged Nurse arose

With voice so shrill and clear:
What wight is this, that calls so loud.
And knocks so boldly here'?

1320 llEMQUES OF ANX'IENT POETRY.

(i Tis ] Bertram calls, thy Lady's love,
Come from his bed of care :
All dav I Ve ridden o*er moor and moss.
To see thy Lady fair.

7 Now out, alas! (she loudly shriek'd)

Alas! how may this be?
For six long days are gone and past
Since she set out to thee.

8 Sad terror seiz'd sir Bertram's heart.

And oft he deeply sigh'd;
When now the draw-bridge was let down,
And gates set open wide.

9 Six days, young knight, are past and gone

Since she set out to thee ;
And sure if no sad harm had hap'd
Long since thou wouldst her see.

10 For when she heard thy grievous chance

She tore her hair, and cried,
Alas! I Ve slain the comeliest knight,
All thro' my folly and pride!

1 1 And now to atone for my sad fault.

And his dear health regain,
1 11 go myself, and nurse my love,
And soothe his bed of pain.

12 Then mounted she her milk-white steed

One morn at break of day;
And two tall yeomen went with her
To guard her on the way.

THE HERMIT OF WARK WORTH. 321

13 Sad terror smote sir Bertram's lieart,

And grief o erwhelm'd liis mind :
T]-ust me, said he, I ne'er will rest
Till I thy Lady find.

1 4 That night he spent in sorrow and care ;

And with sad boding heart

Or ever the dawning of the day

His brother and he depart.

1 5 Now, brother, we 11 om* ways divide,

O'er Scottish hills to range ;
Do thou go north, and 1 11 go west ;
And all our dress we '11 chano'o.

16 Some Scottish carle hath seized my love,

And borne her to his den ;
And ne'er will I tread English ground
Till she is restored a2:en.

1 7 The brothers strait their paths divide.

O'er Scottish hills to range;
And hide themselves in queint disguise,
And oft their dress they change.

18 Sir Bertram clad in gown of gray,

Most like a Palmer poor,
To halls and castles wanders round,
And begs from door to door.

19 Sometimes a Minstrel's garb he wears.

With pipe so sweet and shrill ;
And wends to every tower and town,
O'er every dale and hill.
VOL. in. X

322 RELIQUES OF ANCIKNT POETRY.

20 One Jay as he sate under a tliorn

All sunk in deep dispair,
An aged Pilg-rim pass'd him by,
Vfho mai'k'd his face of care.

21 All Minstrels yet that ever I saw

Are full of game and glee :
But thou art sad and woe-begone !
I marvel whence it be!

22 Father, I serve an aged Lord,

Whose grief afflicts my mind ;
His only child is stol'n away.
And fain I would her find.

23 Cheer up, my son ; perchance, (he said)

Some tidings I may bear :
For oft when human hopes have fail'd.
Then heavenly comfort ^s near.

24 Behind yon hills so steep and liigh,

Down in a lowly glen.
There stands a castle fair and strong,
Far from th' abode of men.

25 As late I chanc'd to crave an alms

About this evening hour,
Methought I heard a Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

26 And when I ask'd what harm had hap'd.

What Lady sick there lay?
They rudely drove me from the gate.
And bade me wend away.

THE IIEllMIT OF WARKWORTII. 323

27 These tidings caught sir Bertram's car,

Ho thank'd him for his talc ;

And soon he hasted o'er the hills,

And soon he reached the vale.

28 Then drawing near those lonely towers,

Which stood in dale so low.
And sitting down beside the gate.
His pipes he 'gan to blow.

29 Sir Porter, is thy lord at home

To hear a Minstrel's song?

Or may I crave a lodging here.

Without offence or wrong?

30 My Lord, he said, is not at home

To hear a Minstrel's song :
And should I lend thee lodging here
My life would not be long.

1 He play'd again so soft a strain,
Such power sweet sounds impart,
He won the churlish Porter's ear,
And moved his stubborn heart.

32 Minstrel, he say'd, thou play'st so sweet.

Fair entrance thou should'st win ;
But, alas, I 'm sworn upon the rood
To let no stranger in.

33 Yet, Minstrel, in yon rising clift*

Thou 'It find a sheltering cave ;
And here thou shalt my supper share,
And there thy lodging have.

324 UKLIQL'ES OF ANCIENT POETUY.

34 All day lie sits beside the gate,

And pipes both loud and clear:
All night he watches round the walls,
In hopes his love to hear.

35 The first night, as he silent watch'd.

All at the midnight hour,
He plainly heard his Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

36 The second night the moon shone clear,

And gilt the spangled dew ;

He saw his Lady thro' the grate.

But 'twas a transient view.

37 The third night weaned out he slept

'Till near the morning tide ;
When, starting up, he seiz'd his sword.
And to the castle hy'd.

38 When, lo! he saw a ladder of ropes

Depending from the wall ;
And o'er the mote was newly laid
A poplar strong and tall.

39 And soon he saw his love descend

Wrapt in a tartan lAaid ;

Assisted by a sturdy youth

In highland garb y-clad.

40 Amaz'd, confounded at the sight,

He lay unseen and still;
And soon he saw them cross the stream,
And mount the neighbouring hill.

THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 325

41 Unheard, unknown of all within,

The youthful couple fly.
But what can scape the lover's kcnl
Or shun his piercing eye"?

42 With silent step he follows close

Behind the flying pair.
And saw her hang upon his arm
With fond familiar air.

43 Thanks, gentle youth, she often said;

My thanks thou well hast won :
For me what wyles hast thou contriv'd?
For me what dangers runl

44 And ever shall my grateful heart

Thy services repay : —
Sir Bertram could no further hear,
But cried, Vile traitor, stay!

45 Vile traitor! yield that Lady up!

And quick his sword he di'ew.
The stranger turn'd in sudden rage.
And at Sir Bertram flew.

46 With mortal hate their vigorous arms

Gave many a vengeful blow :
But Bertram's stronger hand prevail'd,
And laid the stranger low.

'&'

47 Die, traitor, die! — A deadly thrust
Attends each furious word.
Ah! then fair Isabel knew his voice.
And rush'd beneath his sword.

326 IlELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

48 0 stop, slic cried, 0 stop thy arm!

Tliou dost thy brother slay! —
And here the Hermit paus'd, and wept :
His tongue no more could say.

49 At length he cried. Ye lovely pair.

How shall I tell the rest?
Ere I could stop my piercing sword.
It fell, and stabb'd her breast.

50 Wert thou thyself that hapless youth?

Ah ! cruel fate ! they said.
The Hermit wept, and so did they :
They sigh'd ; he hung his head.

510 blind and jealous rage, he cried,
What evils from thee flow?
The Hermit paus'd; they silent mourn'd
He wept, and they were woe.

52 Ah! when I heard my brother's name.

And saw my lady bleed,
I rav'd, I wept, I curst my arm.
That wrought the fatal deed.

53 In vain I clasp'd her to my breast.

And clos'd the ghastly wound;
In vain I pressed his bleeding corpse.
And rais'd it from the ground.

54 My brother, alas! spake never more.

His precious life was flown.
She kindly strove to sooth my pain,
Regardless of her own.

(

THE HERMIT OF WARKWOKTII. 327

55 Bertram, she said, be comforted,

And live to think on me :
May we in heaven that union prove,
Which here was not to be!

56 Bertram, she said, I still was true;

Thou only hadst my heart :
May we hereafter meet in bliss !
We now, alas! must part.

5 7 For thee I left my father's hall,
And flew to thy relief.
When, lo! near Chiviot's fatal hills
I met a Scottish chief,

58 Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffered love

I had refus'd with scorn;
He slew my guards, and seiz'd on me
Upon that fatal morn ;

59 And in these dreary hated walls

He kept me close confin'd;
And fondly sued, and warmly press'd
To win me to his mind.

60 Each rising morn increased my pain.

Each night increas'd my fear;
When wandering in this northern garb,
Thy brother found me here.

61 He quickly form'd this brave design

To set me captive free ;
And on the moor his horses wait,
Ty'd to a neighbouring tree.

328 KELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

G2 Tlieii liasto, my love, escape away,
And for thyself provide;
And sometime fondly think on lier,
Who should have been thy bride.

63 Thus pouring comfort on my soul

Even with her latest breath,
She gave one parting fond embrace,
And closed her eyes in death.

64 In w41d amaze, in speechless w^oo

Devoid of sense I lay :
Then sudden all in frantic mood
I meant myself to slay :

6^ And rising up in furious haste
1 seiz'd the bloody brand : ^
A sturdy arm here interpos'd.
And wTonch'd it from my hand.

66 A crowd, that from the castle came,
Had miss'd their lovely ward ;
And seizing me to prison bare,
And deep in dungeon barr'd.

6 7 It chanc'd that on that very morn
Their chief was prisoner ta'en :
Lord Percy had us soon exchang'd,
And strove to soothe my pain.

68 And soon those honoured dear remams
To England were convey 'd;
And there within their silent tombs,
With holy rites were laid.

1 i.e., Sword.

Tin: HERMIT OF WAKKWORTII. 329

69 For me, I loatli'd my wretched life,
And oft to end it soiiglit ;
Till time, and tliouglit, and holy men
Had better counsels tauu-ht.

70 They raised my heart to that pure source,
Wlience heavenly comfort flows :
They taught me to despise the world,
And calmly bear its woes.

71 No more the slave of human pride.

Vain hope, and sordid care ;
I meekly vowed to spend my life
In penitence and prayer.

72 The bold Sir Bertram now no more.

Impetuous, haughty, ^vild;

But poor and humble Benedict,

Now lowly, patient, mild:

73 My lands I gave to feed the poor.

And sacred altars raise ;

And here a lonely Anchorete

I came to end my days.

74 This sweet sequestered vale I chose,

These rocks, and hanging grove ;
For oft beside this murmuring: stream
My love was wont to rove.

75 My noble Friend approv'd my choice ;

This blest retreat he gave :
And here I carv'd her beauteous form,
And scoop'd this holy cave.

'330 IlELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

76 Full fifty winters, all forlorn,
My life I 'vo lingcr'd licro ;
And daily o'er this sculptai"'d saint
I drop the pensive tear.

11 And thou, dear brother of my heart.
So faithful and so true,
The sad remembrance of thy fate
Still makes my bosom rue!

1% Yet not unpitied pass'd my life,
Forsaken or forgot,
The Percy and his noble Son
Would grace my lowly cot.

79 Oft the great Earl from toils of state,

And cumbrous pomp of powder,
Would gladly seek my little cell
To spend the tranquil hour.

80 But length of life is length of woe,

I liv'd to mourn his fall :
I liv'd to mourn liis godlike Son,^
Their friends and followers all.

81 But thou the honours of thy race,

Lov'd youth, shalt now restore ;
And raise again the Percy name
More glorious than before.

82 He ceas'd, and on the lovely pair

His choicest blessings laid :
While they with thanks and pitying tears
His mournful tale repaid.

1 Hotspur.

THE HERMIT OF WARKWOKTH. 331

83 Aiicl now what present course to take

They ask the good old sire ;
And giiided by his sage advice
To Scotland they retire.

84 Mean-time their suit such favour found

At Raby's stately hall,
Earl Neville and his princely Spouse
Now gladly pardon all.

85 She suppliant at her Nephew's ^ throne

The royal grace implor'd :
To all the honours of his race
The Percy was restored.

86 The youthful Earl still more and more

Admir'd his beauteous dame :
Nine noble Sons to him she bore.
All worthy of their name.

THE END OF THE BALLAD.

+*^ Tlie account given in the foregoing ballad of young Percy, the son of
Hotspur, receives the following confirmation from the old Chronicle of Whitby.

' Henry Percy, the son of Sir Henry Percy, that was slayne at Shrewesbery,
and of Elizabeth, the daughter of the Erie of Marchc, after the death of his
Father and Grauntsyre, was exiled into Scotland^ in the time of king Henry
the Fourth : but in the time of king Henry the Fifth, by the labour of Johanne
the countes of Westmerland, (whose Daughter Alianor he had wedded in com-
ing into England,) he recovered the King's grace, and the countye of Nor-
thumberland, 80 was the second Erie of Northumberland,

'And of this Alianor his wife, he bcgate IX Sonncs, and HI Daughters,
whose names be Johanne, that is buried at Whytbye: Thomas, lord Egrc-
mont: Kathcryne Gray of Rythyn: Sir Raffe Percy: William Percy, a
Byshopp: liichard Percy: John, that dyed without Issue: [another John,
called by Vincent,' "Johannes Percy senior dc Warkworth:"] George Percy,

1 Kins Henry V. A.D. 1414. — - i.e. remained an exile in Scotland during the Reipii of kinj;
Henry IV. In Scotia exulavit tempore Henrlci Regis quarti. Lat. MS. penes Due. North.
— 3 Sec Ilia Great liaronag. No. 20. in the Heralds olllce.

1^32 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT POETRY.

Clerk: Henry that dyed witliout issue: Anne ' [besides the eldest son

and successor here omitted, because he comes in below, viz.]
' Henry Percy, the third Erie of Northumberland.'

Vid. Uarl. MSS. No. GD2. (2G.) in the British Museum.

POSTSCRIPT.

It will perhaps gratify the curious Reader to be informed, that from a word
or two foi-merly legible over one of the Chapel Doors, it is believed that the Text
there inscribed was that Latin verse of the Psalmist,^ which is in our Trans-
lation,

My Tears have been my meat day and night.
It is also certain, that the memory of the first Hermit was held in such re-
gard and veneration by the Percy Family; that they afterwards maintained a
Chantry Priest, to reside in the Hermitage, and celebrate Mass in the Chapel :
whose allowance, uncommonly liberal and munificent, was continued do"wn to
the Dissolution of the Monasteries; and then the whole Salary, together with
the Hermitage and all its dependencies, reverted back to the Family, having
never been endowed in mortmain. On this account we have no Record,
which fixes the date of the Foundation, or gives any particular account of the
first Hermit; but the following Instrument will show the liberal Exhibition
aftbrded to his Successors. It is the Patent granted to the last Hermit in
1532, and is copied from an ancient MS. book of Grants, &c. of the \l^^ Earl
of Northumberland, in Henry the Vlllths time.^

SIR GEORGE LANCASTRE PATENT OF XX MERKS BY YERE.

* Henry Erie of Northumbreland, &c. Knowe youe that I the saide Erie,
in consideration of the diligent and thankful service, that my welbeloved
Chaplen sir George Lancastre hath don unto me the said Erie, and also for the
goode and vertus disposition that I do perceyve in him : And for that he shall
have in his daily recommendation and praiers the good estate of all suche
noble Blode and other Personages, as be nowlevynge; And the Soules of such
noble Blode as be departed to the mercy of God owte of this present lyve,
Whos Names are conteyned and wrettyn in a Table upon perchment signed
with thaude of me the said Erie, and delivered to the custodie and keapynge
of the said sir George Lancaster: And further, that he shall kepe and saye his
devyn service in celebratyng and doynge Mass of Regine every weke accord-
inge as it ys written and set furth in the saide Table: Have geven and
graunted, and by these presentes do gyve and graunte unto the said sir
George, myn Armytage belded in a Rock of stone within my Parke of "Wark-
worth in the Countie of Northumbreland in the honour of the blessed Trynete,
With a yerly Stipende of twenty Merks by yer,^ from the feest of seint Michell
tharchaungell last past afFore the date herof yerly duryng the naturall lyve of
the said sir George: And also I the said Erie have geven and graunted, and
by these Presents do gyve and graunte unto the said sir George Lancaster,
the occupation of one litle Gresground of myn called Cony-garth nygh ad-

1 Psal. xlii. 3. — 2 Classed, F. I. No. 1. penes Due. Northuinb. — * This would be equal to
jElOO, per annum now. See the Chronicon Pretiosum.

THE HERMIT OF WAlilOVORTII. 333

joynyn^c the said Ilarmytagc, only to lii.s ownc use and pronfit wyntcr and
somcr duryn^e the said tcrnie; The Garden and Orteyard belono-yng tlie said
Armytage; The Gate^ and Pasture ofTwelfKye and a Bull, with their Calves
suking; And two Horses goyinp^ and beyng within my said Parke of Wark-
worth wynter and somer; One Drauo;ht of Fisshe every Sondaie in the yere to
be drawen fornenst ^ the said Armytage, called The Tryncte Draught; And
Twenty Lods of Fyrewode to be taken of my Wodds called Shilbotell Wode,
duryng the said term. The said Stipend of xx ]Merks by yer to be taken and
perceyvcd ' yerly of tlie rent and ferme of my Fisshyng of Warkworth, by
thands of the Fermour or Fcrmours of the same for the tyme beynge yerly at
the times ther used and accustomed by evyn Portions. Ailowe in recompense
In wytnes wherof to thes my Lettres Patentes I the herof yerly x".*
said Erie have set the Scale of myn Armes: Yeven Richerd Ryche.

undre my Signet at my Castell of "\yarkworth, the third dale of December, in
the xxiiith Yer of tlie Reigne of our Sovereyn Lorde kyng Henry the eight.'

On the Dissolution of the Monasteries, the above Patent was produced be-
fore the Court of Augmentation in Michaelmas-Term, 20 Oct. A. 29. Hen.
viii. when the same was allowed by the Chancellor and Counsel of the said
Court, and all the profits confirmed to the incumbent Sir George Lancaster;
Excepting that in compensation for the annual Stipend of Twenty Marks, he
was to receive a Stipend of Ten Marks, and to have a free Chapel called The
Rood Chapel, and the Hospital of St Leonard, within the Barony of AVigdon,
in the County of Cumberland.

After the perusal of the above Patent it will perhaps be needless to caution
the Reader against a Mistake, some have fallen into; of confounding this
Hermitage near Warkworth, with a Chantry founded within the town itself,
by Nicholas de Farnham bishop of Durham, in the reign of Henry III. who
appropriated the Church of Brankeston for the maintenance there of two Bene-
dictine Monks from Durham.^ That small monastic foundation is indeed
called a Cell by bishop Tanner:^ but he must be very ignorant indeed, who
supposes that the word Cell is necessarily to be understood a Hermitage;
whereas it was commonly applied to any small conventual establishment
which was dependant on another.

As for the Chapel belonging to this endowment of bishop Farnham, it is
mentioned as in ruins in several old Surveys of Queen Elizabeth's time; and
its scite, not far from Warkworth Church, is still remembered. But that there
was never more than one Priest maintained, at one and the same time, within
the Hermitage, is plainly proved (if any further proof is wanting) by the
fulloAving Extract from a Survey of Warkworth, made in the Year 15G7,^ viz.

' Ther is in the Parke (sc. of Warkworth) also one Ilowse hewyn within one
Cragge, which is called the Harmitage Chapel: In the same ther haith bene
one Prcast kcaped, which did such godlye Sersices as that tyme was used and
celebrated. The Mantion Ilowse [sc. the small building adjoining to the
Cragg] ys nowe in decaye: the Closes that appertcined to the said Chantrie
is occupied to his Lordship's use.'

1 i.e. Going : from the Verb, to Gae. — 2 Or fore-anenst : i.e. opposite ' Sic MS. — * So the

MS. The above Sir Richard Rych was Clmncellor of the Augmentations at tho Suppression
of the Monasteries.—* Ang. Sacr p. 73:*. — ^ Mon. Ang. p. 3'J6.— ^ By Geo. Clarkson. penes
Dae. Nortli.

A GLOSSyVUY

OF THE

OBSOLETE AND SCOTTISH WORDS IN
VOLUME THE THIRD.

Such words, as the reader cannot find here, he is desired to look for in the
Glossaries to the other volumes.

A" au, s. all.

Abj/e, suffer, to pay for.

Af, s. off".

Afore, before.

Aik, s. oak.

Aith, s. oath.

Ane, s. one ; an, a.

A7in, if.

Aquoi/, coy, shy.

Astonied, astonished, stunned.

Aidd, s. old.

Avoive, vow.

Aiva\ s. away.

Ai/e, ever ; also, ah ! alas !

Ayont, s. beyond.

Dan, curse.

Banderolles, streamers, little flags.

Maud, s. bold.

Bedeene, immediately.

Bedone, wrought, made up.

Beere, s. bier.

Ben, s. within doors.

Bent, s. long grass ; also, wild fields,
where bents, &c. grow.

Bereth, beareth.

Bernes, barns.

Beseeme, become.

Beshradde, cut into shreds.

Beshreio me ! a lesser form of im-
precation.

Besmirche, to soil, discolour.

Blee, complexion.

Blent, blended.

Blinkan, hlinkand, s. twinkling.

Blinking, squinting.
Blinks, s, twinkles, sparkles.

Blinne, cease, give over.

Bljjtk, hlythe, sprightly, joyous.

Bli/th, joy, sprightliness.

Bookesman, clerk, secretary.

Boon, favour, request, petition.

Bore, born.

Bower, howre, any bowed or arched
room ; a parlour, chamber ; also
a dwelling in general.

Bowre woman, s. chamber-maid.

Brae, s. the brow, or side of a hill,
a declivity.

Brakes, tufts of fern.

Brand, sword.

Brast, burst.

Braw, gay, hraivny, s. brave.

Brayde, drew out, unsheathed.

Brenn, s. burn.

Bridal, (properly bride-ale) the
nuptial feast.

Brigue, brigg, bridge.

Britled, carved. Vid. Byrttlynge.
Gloss. Vol. I.

Brooche, brouche, 1st, a spit ; 2dly,
a bodkin ; 3dly, any ornamental
trinket. Stone-buckles of silver
or gold, with which gentlemen
and ladies clasp their shirt-
bosoms, and handkerchiefs, are
called in the North Brooches,
from the f. broche, a spit.

Brocht, s. brought.

Bugle, bugle-horn, a hunting-horn :
being the horn of a Bugle, or
Wild Bull.

Burn, bourne, brook.

Busk, dress, deck.

But if, unless.

'i-Butt, s. without, out of doors.

Byre, s. cow-house.

1 Of the Scottish words Ben, and But; Ben is from the Dutch Binnen, Lat. intra, infus,
whicli is compounded of the preposition Brj, or Be, the same as Bp in English, and of in.
— 2 £u,t, or Butt, is from the Dutch Buvten, Lat extra, proeter, prceterquam, which is com-
pounded of the same preposition By or Be, and ol vpt, tlie same as out in English.

GLOSSART.

335

Can, 'gan, began.

Caitiff, a slave.

Carina, s. cannot.

Carle, a churl, clown.

CarUs\ churlish, discourteous.

Cau, s. call.

Cauld, s. cold.

Certes, certainly.

Chap, knock.

Chevaliers, f. knights.

C/ii7t/, a knight. SeeVol.I.Gloss.&c.

Chield,s. is a slight or familiar way
of speaking of a person, like our
English word fellow. The chield,
i.e. the fellow.

Ch ristentie, Christendomc.

Churl, clown : a person of low birth ;
a villain.

Church-ale, a wake, a feast in com-
memoration of the dedication of
a Church.

Claiths, s. clothes.

dead, s. clothed.

Cleading, s. clothing.

Cled, s. clad, clothed.

Clerks, clergymen, literati, scholars.

ending, s. clothing.

Cog, cheat.

Cold, Could, knew.

Coleyne, Cologn steel.

Con thanks, give thanks.

Cote, coat.

Courtnals, cuckolds.

Cramasie, s. crimson.

Cranion, skull.

Crinkle, run in and out, run into
flexures, wrinkle.

Crook, twist, wrinkle, distort.

Crowt, to pucker up.

Cwm, s. come.

Dank, moist, damp.

Dawes, days.

Deas, deis, the high table in a hall :

from/, dais, a canopy.
Dealan, dcland^ 8. dealing.
Dee, s. die.
Deed, dead.
Deemed, doomed, judged, &c. thus,

in the Isle of Man, Judges are

called Deemsters.
Decrbj, preciously, richly.
Deid, 8. dead.

Deid bell, s. passing-bell.

Dell, narrow valley.

Delt, dealt.

Descrye, descrive, describe.

DemainSj demesnes ; estate in

lands.
Dight, decked.
Ding, dinge, knock, beat.
Din, dinne, noise, bustle.
Disna, s. doest not.
Distrere, the horse rode by a knight

in the turnament.
Dosend, s. dosing, drowsy, torpid,

benumbed, &c.
Doublet, a man's inner garment ;

waistcoat.
Doubt, fear.
Doubteous, doubtful.
Douzty, doughty.
Drapping, s. dropping.
Dreiry, s. dreary.
Dule, s. dole, sorrow.
Dwellan, dwelland, s. dwelling.
Dyan^ dyand, s. dying.

Eather, s. either.

Eee; een, eyne, s. eye ; eyes.

Een, even, evening.

Effund, pour forth.

Eftsoon, in a short time.

Eir, s. e'er, ever.

Enouch, s. enough.

Eke, also.

Evanished, s. vanished.

Everiche, every, each.

Everychone, every one.

Ew-bughts, or Ewe-boughts, s. are
small inclosures, or pens, into
which the farmers drive (Scotico
weir) their milch ewes, morning
and evening, in order to milk
them. They are commonly made
vfiihf ale-dykes, i.e. earthen dykes

Excalibar, Arthur's sword, other-
wise caliburn or escalberd.

Ezar, azure.

Fadge, s. a thick loaf of bread :
figuratively, any coarse heap of
stuff.

Fain, glad, fond, well-pleased.

Faire, thrive.

Falds, 8. thou foldcst.

GLOSSARY.

Falhi7i\faUancl, s. fulling.

Falser^ a deceiver, hyjxjcrite.

Fit'Sy 8. thou fallest.

Faw^ii, s. fallen.

Fuj/e, faith.

Fea re, fe re, fc ire, mate.

Feates, feats.

Fee, reward, rocompence ; it also
signifies land, when it is con-
nected with the tenure by which
it is held ; as knight's fee, &c.

Fet, fetched.

Fillan\fiUand, s. filling.

Filinge, defiling.

Find frost, find mischance, or dis-
aster. A phrase still in use.

F\t, s. foot.

Five teen, fifteen.

Flayne, flayed.

Flindars, s, pieces, splinters.

Fonde, found.

Foregoe, quit, give up, resign.

Forewearied, much wearied.

Forthy, therefore.

Fou\ Fow, s. full : Item, drunk.

Frae, s. fro : from.

Furth, forth.

Fyers, fierce.

Fyled, fyling, defiled, defiling.

Gae, s. gave.
Gae, gaes, s. go, goes.
Gaed, gade, s. went.
Gan, began.
Gane, s. gone.
Gang, s. go.
Gar, s. make.

Gart, garred, gard, s. made.
Gear, geir, s. geer, goods, furniture.
Geid, s. gave.
Gerte, pierced.
Gibed, jeered.
Gie, s. give.
Giff, if. ^
Gin, s. if.

Gin, gyn, ginn, engine, contriv-
ance.
Gins, begins.

Gip, an interjection of contempt.
Glee, merriment, joy.
Glen, s. a narrow valley.

Glente, glanced, slipt.

Glowr, 8. stare, or frown.

Gloze, canting, dissimulation, fair

outside.
Gode, good.
Gone, go.
Gowd, 8. gold ; a' gowd hot the hem,

all gold about the hem.
Greet, 8. weep.

Groomes, attendants, servants.
Gude, gicid, 8. good.
Guerdon, reward.
Gule, red.
Gyle, guile.

IIa\ 8. hall.

Hame, home.

Hap, luck.

Hauss bane, s. Ha2:)luch, the neck-
bone; {halse-hone) a phrase for
the neck.

Ilee's, 8. he shall : also, he has.

Iley-day guise, frolic ; sportive
frolicksome manner.i

Heathenness, the heathen part of
the world.

Hem, 'em, them.

Uente, held, pulled.

Heo, they.

Her, hare, their.

Hett, hight, bid, call, command.

Hewkes, heralds coats.

Hind, s. behind.

Hings, s. hangs.

Hip, hep, the berry, which con-
tains the stones or seeds of the
dog-rose.

Hir; hir lain, s. her ; herself alone.

Hole, whole.

Hollen, probably a corruption for
holly.

Honde, hand.

Hooly, s. slowly.

Hose, stockings.

Huggle, hug, clasp.

Hyt, it.

Ufardly, s. ill-favouredly, uglily.

Hka, s. each, every one.

Impe, a little demon.

Jetted, strutted ; used by Shakspere

1 This word is perhaps, in p. 170, corruptly given; being apparently the same with Heyde-
guies, or Heydeguives, which occurs in Spenser, and means a * wild frolick dance.' — Johns.

DiCT.

GLOSSARY.

337

in ' Twelfth Night' ' how ho jets
under his advanced phimes.'

Juncates, deUcacies, Junkets in
L'Allegi-o.

Ingle, s. tire.

Joic, 5. joll, or jowl.

Ireful, angry, furious.

he, s. I shall.

Incontinenty immediatcl}'.

Kame, s. comb.

Kameing, s. combing.

Kantle, piece, corner.

Kauk, s. chalk.

Keely s. raddle.

Kempt, combed.

Ken, s. know.

Ke ver-chefes^ handkerchiefs.

Key-cold, very cold.

Kilted, s. tucked up.

Kirk, s, church.

Kirk-wciC, s. church-wall : or per-
haps church-yard-wall.

Kirn, s. churn.

Kirtle, a petticoat, woman's gown.

Kith, acquaintance.

Knellan, knelland, 5. knelling, ring-
ing the knell.

Kyrtell, vdd. kirtle. In the Introd.
it signifies a man's under gar-

ment.^

Lacke, want.

Ladyes, sometimes used for

nymphs.
Laith, s. loth.
Lamb's wool, a cant phrase for ale

and roasted apples.
Lang, s. long.
Lap, s. leaped.
Largesse, f. gift, liberality.
Lee, lea, field, pasture.
Lee, s. lie.
Leech, physician.
Leese, s. lose.
Leffe, Icefe, dear.
Leid, s. lyed.
Lemman, lover.

Leugh, s. laughed.

Lewd, ignorant, scandalous, inde-
cent.

Libbard, leopard.

Libbard's-bane, an herb so called.

Lichily, s. lightly, easily, nimbly.

Lig, s. lie.

Limitours, friars licensed to beg
within certain Hunts.

Limitacioune, a certain precinct
aUowed to a limitour.

Lither, naughty, wicked.

Lo^e, toed, s. love, loved.

Lothly, (vid. lodlye, Gloss. Vol. II.)
loathsome.^

Lounge, lung.

Lourd, lour, s. lever, had rather.

Lues, luve, s. loves, love.

Lyan, lyand, s. lying.

Lystenyih listen.

Mair, more.

Mait, s. might.

Manchet, the best of fine bread.

Mark, a coin in value 13s. 4d.

Mazer, maple.

Maugre, in spite of.

Mavis, s. a thrash.

Maun, s. must.

Mawt, s. malt.

Meed, rewai'd.

Micht, might.

Mickle, much, great.

Midge, a small insect, a kind of
gnat.

Minstral, s. minstrel, musician, &c.

Minstrels le, music.

Mirkie, dark, black.

Mishap, misfortune.

Mither, s. mother.

Moe, more.

Mold, mould, ground.

Monand, moaning, bemoaning.

More ; originally and properly
signified a hill (from A. JS. moji,
mons,) but tiio hills of the North
being generally full of bogs, a

1 Bale, in his Actcs of Eng. Votaries (2d Part, fol. r)3.) uses tho word Kyuti.e to sijrnify a
Monk's Frock. He hays, Ko^jer Karl of Slirewsbiuy, wlicn la- was dyinif, sent 'to Clunyukt.', in
France, tor the KritTLK of holy lliijjh the Abbot tliere,' *cc.— ^Tlie adverbial termination's -some
and -ly were applied inditferenlly by our old urittrs: thus, as we have Lotltly U>v /.oalhsume,
above; so wc have Uysome in a seiihe not very remote from Uylii in Lord Surrey's Version of
.Kn. 2d. viz.

•lii every place tlie ug^souic uit'l'tes 1 saw.'

GLOSSARY.

Moor carae to signify boggy
marshy ground in general.

Mon'oicni/iifjcs, mornings.

Musses, swiuapy grounds covered
with peat-moss.

Mote^ mought^ might,

Mou, 8. mouth.

N.
^s^a^ nae, s. no.
Naetlii7ig, s. nothing.
Nane, s. none.
Neicfangle, nevjfangled, fond of

novehy : of new fashions, &c.
Nicht, s. night.
JVoble, a coin in vahie Gs. 8d.
jVorlandf s. northern.
Nortk-gales, North Wale^

Ohraidj s. upbraid.

Oni/, s. any.

Or, ere before. — In * Old Bobin,' v.
41, or seems to have the force of
the Latin vel, and to signify even.

Ou, you.

Out-brayde, drew out, unsheathed.

Owre, s. over.

Oivre-iuord, s. the last word. The
burden of a song.

Owches, bosses, or buttons of gold.

Pall, a cloak, or mantle of state.

Palmer, a pilgrim, who, having
been at the holy land, carried a
palm branch in his hand.

Paramour, gallant, lover, mistress.

Partake, participate, assign to.

Pattering, murmuring, mumbling,
from the manner in which the
Pater-noster was anciently hur-
ried over, in a low inarticulate
voice.

Paynim, pagan.

Pearlins, s. a coarse sort of bone-
lace.

Peer: peerless^ equal, without
equal.

Peering, peeping, looking narrowly.

Perill, danger.

Philomene, philomel, the nightin-
gale.

Plaine, com}.)lain.

Plein, complain.

Porcupig, porcupine, /. j^orcppie.
Poterncr, })erhaps pjicket, or

pouch. Paato7iiere in Fr. is a

shepherds scrip {yid. Cotgrave.)
Piece, s. a little.
Preas, presse, press.
Pricked, spurred forward, travelled

a good round pace.
Prowess, bravery, valour, miUtary

gallantry.
Puissant, strong, powerful.
Pur/el, an ornament of embroidery.
ParfeUed, embroidered.

Quail, shrink, flinch, yield.
Quay, quhey, s. a young heifer,

called a whie in Yorkshire.
Quean, sorry, base woman.
Quell, suhdae; also, kill.
Quelcli, a blow, or bang.
Qulia, s. who.
Quhair, s. w4iere.
Quhan, whan, s. when.
Quhaneer, s. whene'er.
Quhen, s. when.
Quick, alive, living.
Quitt, requite.
Quo, quoth.

Rade, s. rode.

liaise, s. rose.

Reade, rede, 8, advise.

Reeve, baiiitf.

Renneth, renning, runneth, run-
ning.

Reft, bereft.

Riall, royal.

Riddle, seems to be a vulg. idiom
for unriddle; or is perhaps a
corruption of reade, i.e. advise.

Rin, s. run. Rin my errand, a
contracted way of speaking for
' run on my errand.' The pro-
noun is omitted. So the Fr. say
faire message.

Rood, Roode, cross, crucifix.

Route, go about, travel.

Rudd, red, ruddy.

Ruth, pity.

Rathfull, rueful, woeful.

GLOSSARY.

339

S.
Sa^ sac, s. so.
iSaft, s. soft.
/S'ai'wj, s. same.
Sair, s. sore.
tSall, s. shall.
jSari't', s. shirt.
)Saut, s. salt.
fSai/, essay, attempt.
Scant, scarce : item, scantiness.
See, permit, in Child ^V'aters, L CO.
Seeli/, silly.
Seething, boiling.
Sed, said.
Sel, sell, s. self.
Sen, s. since.
Seneschall, steward.
Set/, s. say, a kind of woollen stuff.
S/iee's,s. she shall.
Sheene, shining.
Shield-hone, the blade-bone ; a

common phrase in the North.
Shent, shamed, disgraced, abused,
Shepenes, shipcns, cow - houses,

sheep-pens. A. S. Scypen.
Shimmered, s. glittered.
Sho, scho, s. she.
Shoone, shoes.
Shope, shaped.

Shread, cut into small pieces.
Shreeven, shriven, confessed her

sms.

Shullen, shall.

Sic, sick, such.

Sick-like, s. such-like.

Sighan, sighand, s. sighing.

Siller, s. silver.

Sith, since.

Skinkled, s. glittered ; means some-
times spilt.

Slaited, s. whetted ; or, perhaps,
wiped.

Sleuth, slayeth.

Slee, slay.

Sna\ snaw, s. snow.

Sooth, truth, true.

Soth, sothe, ditto.

Soidd, s. should.

Souldan, soldan, soiodan, sultan.

Spack, s. si)akc.

Sped, speeded, succeeded.

Speik, 8. si)cak.

1 So Chancer, in his Rhyme of Sir Thopas.

— ' lie soiifjlite north and south.
And oft lie t)i<ircd with his mouth.*
i.e. ' inquired.'

Speir, s. spcre, speare, spcere, spire,

a.sk, inquire.!
Speir, 5, spear.
Spill, spoil, destroy, kill.
Spillan, spilla.nd, s. spilling.
Spurging, froth that purges out.
Squelsh, a blow, or bang.
Stay, apprehension. Bee Georgo

Barnwell.
Stean, s. stone.
Sterte, started.
Steven, voice, sound.
Stint, stop, short allowance.
Stound, stonde, space, moment,

hour, time.
Stowre, strong, robust, fierce.
Stower, stowre, stir, disturbance,
Strint, strut or swell.
Stude, stuid, s. stood.
Sitmmere, a sumpter horse.
Surcease, cease.
Sune, s. soon.
Sweere, swire, neck.
Syne, s. then, afterwards.

T.
Teene, sorrow, grief.
Tester, sixpence.
Tlievjcs, manners, limbs.
Than, s. then.
Thair, s. there.
Thir, s. this, these.
Tho, then.
Thrall, captive.
Thrall, captivity.
Thralldorae, ditto.
Thrang, close.

Thrilled, twirled, turned round.
Thropes, villages.
Thocht, thought.
Tift, s. puff of wind.
Tirled, twirled, turned round.
Tone, fane, the one.
Tor, a tower ; also a high-pointed

rock, or hill.
Tres-hardic, f. thrice-hardy.
Trenchant, f. cutting.
Triest furth, s. draw forth to an

assignation.
Trisulcate, three - forked, three -

pointed.
Trow, believe, trust : also, verily.

340

GLOSSARY.

Truth^ truth, faith, fidelity.

Tush, an interjectiou of coutempt
or imputienco.

Ticaj 8. two.

Twat/nCy two.

Tijiitagill, Xiiitagel Castle in Corn-
wall.

Venn, approach, coming.

UnbethuugJity for bethought. So
Unloose for Loose.

Unctuous, fat, clammy, oily.

Under ineleSj afternoons.

Unkempty uncombed.

U7'e, use.

Wadded, perhaps from woad: i.e.
of a light blue colour.^

^Vae, waefo\ s. woe, woeful,

Wad, s. walde, would.

Walker, a fuller of cloth.

Waltered, locltered, rolled along;
also, wallowed.

Wuly, an interjection of grief.

Wame, wem, s. belly.

Warde, s. advise, forewarn.

Wassel, drinking, good cheer.

Wat, s. wet. Also, knew.

Wate, s. blamed. Prset. of wyte, to
blame.

Wax, to grow, become.

Wayward, perverse.

Weale, welfare,

Weare-in, s. drive in gently.

Weede, clothing, dress.

Weel, well. Also, we'll.

Weird, wizard, witch. Properly
fate, destiny.

Welkin, the sky.

Well away, exclam. of pity.

Wem, hurt.

Wende, weened^ thought.

Wend, to go.

Werryed, worryed.

Wha, s. who.

Whair, s. where.

Whan, s. when. l

Whilk, 8. which.

Whit, \iii.

Whit^et, knives.

Trr, 8. with.

Wight y human creature, man or

woman.
Wild-worm, serpent.
Windar, perhaps the contraction

of Windhover, a kind"^of hawk.
Wisy know.

Wit, weet, know, understand.
Woe, woeful, sorrowful.
Wode, wody wood. Also, mad.
Woe-man, a sorrowful man.
Woe-worth, woe be to [you] A.S.

ivorthan, (fieri) to be, to become.
Wolde, would.
Wonde, wound, winded.
Wood, wode, mad, furious.
Wood-ivrothy s. furiously enraged.
Wot, know, think.
Wow, s. exclam. of wonder,
Wracke, ruin, destruction.
Wynne, win, joy.
Wyt, wit, weet, know.
Wyte, blame.

Taned, yawned.
Yate, gate.
Y-builty built.
Ychulle, I shall.
Yee ''re, s. ye are.
Yees, s. ye shall.
Yese, s. ye shall.

U, if.

Ylke, ilk, same. That ylk, that

same.
Ylythe, hsten.
Yn, in.

Yode, youd, went.
Yong, s. young.

Your-lane, s. alone, by yourself.
Ys, is.

Ystonge, stung.
Y-wrought, wrought.
Y-wySy truly verily.

1 Taylor, in Hist, of Gayel-kind, p. 49, saj^s, * Bright, from the British word Brith, which
siguilies their wadde colour; this was a light blue.' — Minshbw's Diction.

THE END,

BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDTNBCROH.

1^-

Percy, Thomas - Reliques*

INSTITUTE 0^" MFOlAEVAt STUDIES

i'UR'V.iO— 5, CANADA

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Full text of "Reliques of ancient English poetry : consisting of old heroic ballads, songs, and other pieces of our earlier poets; together with some few of later date"

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